


Rising Fury

by mindthebutterfly



Series: Burning Stars [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Enterprise, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Character Death, F/M, Gen, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Violence, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 120,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22677547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindthebutterfly/pseuds/mindthebutterfly
Summary: "Ultraviolet light can only be seen under the right circumstances..."With the Dominion conflict looming and allies in danger the Federation cannot afford an internalized conflict. But just how far will they go to prevent history repeating itself?A station under lockdown...A deadly encounter in space...A rising star...A life in chains...When the Federation wages a private war on its own citizens, how far will two men go to meet, or defy, their own destinies?
Relationships: Benjamin Sisko/Kasidy Yates, Beverly Crusher/Jean-Luc Picard, Data (Star Trek)/Original Female Character(s), Jadzia Dax/Worf, Jake Sisko/Tora Ziyal, Julian Bashir/Original Male Character(s), Leah Brahms/Geordi La Forge, Reginald Barclay/Original Female Character(s), William Riker/Deanna Troi
Series: Burning Stars [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582660
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue - Great Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure I wanted to post this prologue, it kind of feels like it gives things away, but I did want to tease this, I really did. It probably does not what anybody thinks it does. I have to be brave to share my writing, my hesitation has kept me from posting this for a rather long time. A lot of editing has happened as well.
> 
> Welcome to the last day of the rest of my sanity for months to come. This is the smallest prologue I've done so far in this series, for what may become one of the longest parts of the series, the main bulk, if you will, of the series. I hope you enjoy it!

_2348, Adigeon Prime_

“Not much light in this space…How do the children like it?”

Shansan Korval perked her head sideways, looking at the elderly human visitor with confusion, and scratched her bill with a single claw, before clicking out a response. Next to her Frijj, her Dorvan translator, quickly replied.

“The light levels in this hospital are best for the vision of Aedigeon Doctors and Nurses to perform at their most optimal ability. The private dormitories for recovery and recreation are certainly brighter. And we treat other races with other vision levels as well.”

“I suppose that is true. And this facility, the equipment you’ve been using is all new, the latest advancements, you said?”

“Correct, we source our technology from Federation and Romulan sources. The absolute best.”

“Of course of course, I forgot, the Romulans too, yes…”

“And Cardassian…” she added, hoping this would be a vital point on her part.

The human was male, with an almost avian-like nose and grayish white hair that stuck up all over his head in a mess, as _uncaring_ about his appearance as Aedigeons _were_ caring about theirs. Case in point, Shansan found herself inclined to preen for a moment, carefully assessing her feathers to be sure they weren’t in such an unkempt fashion as this human’s hair was.

“Hm, well, I suppose it’ll do, but we need to make this quick, I can’t be gone for very long,” he rubbed his chin with a hand as he circled around the treatment room in a very unpredictable fashion, reaching out with hands to touch various machines in the room to inspect their quality. He had been doing so in every room he’d inspected. “My...wife is waiting for me to return...I almost lost her once…”

“I understand,” clicked Shansan, as Frijj translated. She really didn’t understand, but she recognized the need for humans to hear this usual response to an emotionally based comment.

Modern computer translators were not up to the task of recreating the clicks and whistles of Aedigeon into humanoid languages, but Aedigeons themselves had incredibly good hearing, and could fully understand the Basic languages of the Federation, albeit not their body language. That still seemed to be beyond Shansan’s abilities, at least, considering this human as an example. The gentleman was moving around this examination room as if he were assessing a complex and advanced piece of alien technology, rather than a standard medical examination room, much the same as all the others she had shown him.

“The children’s comfort is important,” he continued, nodding his head in some form of approval. “If not all of them, this one for certain. I worked hard on this…” he pulled from his pockets the all important isolinear rod and matching programming chip, which contained his vital research, and which he was entrusting into her care. “Doctor Korval, I hope you understand my concern, my need to inspect your facility first. Your hospital has the reputation as being the most private, most high quality, facility of this kind. But I can’t trust my research to rumors.”

“I can understand,” Shansan had found herself looking at the isolinear rod hopefully, feeling the avian covetousness towards small objects momentarily overwhelming her advanced thinking. She recovered herself quickly before he could notice where her eyes were pointing. “It has been many generations, this work of yours…?”

“Yes,” said the man, and held out the rods and chips to her, as if they were the easiest part of the exchange for him. “My great-grandfather started this research, and risked considerable consequences for continuing his work,” the hand, now free of its burden, raked through his hair. “When you are charged to create something this advanced, this complicated, it can take several generations. It's a heavy burden to finally be free of.”

“Indeed,” Shansan carefully pocketed the research rod and chip into her neatly pinned uniform, so he could see she was very careful of their security. “My own family has a history of research, I myself have been continuing my father’s study of advanced restoration surgery techniques…”

He actually smiled at her, the first smile that the human had given her since his arrival.

“Then you understand, the child who receives this genetic code is receiving an incredible _gift_ ,” he pinched his hand in front of him, in the manner of humans making an important point that they considered to be of great importance. “One child, that is all I’m asking for, but the security must be absolutely airtight, nobody must know which one, not even the parents will know about this. Nobody but you and I, understand? There are people who would _kill_ for this code, and try to get their hands on the child who has it.”

Kill. She knew that word well enough, and the meaning behind it. She had seen enough of it out here on the outer edges of Federation space. She looked to her Dovan translator for a moment, assessing his eyes for a moment, for any sign of hesitation. Dovan egrets were bonded to Aedigeon avians telepathically at birth, serving them, even dying for them, and she was certain her translator could be trusted.

“And him of course,” the human said before she could reassure him. “But you understand now, how serious this is, don’t you?”

A moment elapsed, long moments where his blue eyes were piercing into hers, questioning, and the lighthearted giddiness of receiving the isolinear records was gone, cold hard reality beginning to fill the room.

“We know the danger of the work that we do,” Shansan said, straightening herself in what she hoped would convey to him physically her strong intentions to help him. “No records will be kept of any exchange, and only we three will know.”

“Thank you, Doctor Korval,” said the man. “I am grateful, extremely grateful, for the hand you’ve extended. Hopefully my family’s research will prove successful.”

“Thank you Doctor Soong,” said Shansan in response, the human’s name the hardest bit for her to try and inflect with her tongue. “I will do my very best.”  
  


~~~~~~

Shansan Korval found herself wandering the corridors of the hospital after seeing Doctor Soong to his room, her eyes wandering along the walls absentmindedly, catching on the computer monitors, the signage directing visitors, the hallway name and function designations, and finally upon the cheerful and colorful imagery on the walls of the Children’s Ward, her feet following the same, well tread path down the hallway into the playroom.

Four children were currently seeking treatment right now, and at present they were all in here, with nurses assessing them as they interacted with the various toys and software the nurses presented to them. Of course the parents had already decided exactly what they wanted, but the doctors knew that some things needed to be more thoroughly diagnosed before a proper genetic profile could be constructed.

There was only one girl, about 8 years old in human years, and she was the brightest and least likely to need intellectual augmentation of the four, but she had a severe hearing problem, and often jerked her head up, hearing sounds that weren’t there. Other than this, the girl, with her black braids, dark skin and eyes, had so much potential already to excel. But her parents were adamant; besides her hearing, they wanted to be sure she would have a strong future in Starfleet, an edge over even Vulcans her age.

 _All the parents want their children in Starfleet, or some similar career track,_ Korval thought woefully. _When there are so many other options they could consider as well. She is such an intelligent girl! Already gifted in reading! But…_ her eyes lingered on the girl for a moment. _Is she the one? The one deserving of this special genetic code?_

The isolinear rod and matching programming chip in her pocket were heavy leaden weights as she considered the mostly ordinary young girl. A five year old boy with really dark hair and pale skin caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she turned to consider him. He was sitting in the corner and glaring daggers at anybody who came near, including the nurses, who were putting untouched toys in front of the hostile child, who would certainly need some care in constructing his genes. His parents were potentially not even his parents, but the doctors and nurses never pried into the history of the children brought here, or their parents, nothing too in depth. His ‘parents’ had also set out very strict instructions for his augmentation; pure engineering and security skills, which would go well to making him a vital part of their very structured and very secure colony.

They also had that rare rare privilege of a Federation order giving them permission to have him augmented. For scientific research, of course, that was the sole reason other than life or death that one could practice genetic engineering. Their colony was a science research facility. For them, this would be a part of the ‘experiments’ their colony performed.

 _For us, genetic engineering is a matter of compassion. But if this boy is left untouched,_ she watched him, her frowning eyes considering the way he lashed with his hands at approaching legs. _Well, better to go with their request. He would never fit in otherwise. Potentially become problematic trouble later. It is compassionate to change him at least for that reason._

But was he the one? No. The scientists had brought their own list of approved additions to his code, and no doubt would be bringing him back for examinations to ensure his well being and growth, as well as having Federation doctors give him medical tests as part of their research. The less attention brought to Soong’s research the better.

And so she considered the other two boys in the room. One boy, red haired and freckled, with a very rude tongue sticking out, was running around wildly in the room, disturbing the other three and taking the toys from them that he wanted. He was rather out of control, and constantly laughing, and causing a disturbance. It was no mystery why the redhead had been brought here, he was a constant disruption and had a wild attention span, never settling on one thing, constantly moving to the next, never able to learn.

_Him? Maybe. He would be a good candidate, ordinary colonist family, ordinary ambition towards Starfleet for their child…_

In contrast, the last boy was barely noticeable at all. Unless one communicated with him, or watched him for several minutes, you would never know his dysfunction. True, he was playing with toys younger than his seven years, a stuffed toy called a ‘teddy bear’ that went with him everywhere, and building blocks, which he built up into tall unsteady towers then knocked over with his plushie, followed by laughter. But other than this…

Other than this, this boy struggled. In everything. In communication. In recognition of simple objects. Of being able to tell animals from objects, letters from colors. The aphasia and developmental difficulties were very strong and obvious, once one watched long enough. Thunderstorms terrified him into screaming fits, he couldn’t sleep without someone in the room with him, his sleep was often interrupted by unexplained breaks in his REM processes. He was tired of struggling, and so were his parents, who wanted him to simply be able to excel at whatever he could put his mind to. It wouldn’t hurt if he went to Starfleet, or some high political position, but whatever he wanted they would support. Desperation had brought them here, they had sold a kidney to pay for this treatment, or so they had told her. She firmly believed them.

_So is he the one? The one deserving of this very special gift?_

Korval looked back at the girl, who was drawing on a piece of paper, doing things that girls her age normally would, at a normal level for a girl her age. Perhaps not her. She was gifted enough.

“What do you think, Frijj?” she whispered to her Dorvan, “Who would you give an incredible gift to? Who is the most deserving?”

The Dorvan, whose race was lightly telepathic, and had been following her thoughts for awhile, looked at his selection with a wide eyed grin.

“I think you’re right Frijj,” Shansan clicked in response. “I think, perhaps, you are right.”


	2. Small Cares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I changed the names of the Vulcan children to fit more closely the canon on Vulcan naming conventions.  
> EDIT: I will be editing ALL of the chapters that follow this one. To ensure consistency and good punctuation. Thank you!

Heat. The agony of pulsing throbbing fever. The liquid feeling of sweat, perspiration, boiling on his skin, blood roiling and teeming through his veins...veins he did not have. Blood that did not exist. Sweat that could not form.

“Data!”

He turned the voice over in his mind several times as he lay there and boiled, fire and red and white hot light in the back of his eyelids. His nightmare was not releasing him as normal, a nightmare that had left him just before his wedding, but had returned the moment he had set foot on Vulcan and was no longer showing him any mercy. But a name was present to attach to the voice of the one trying to wake him and he was able to start shaking off the agony of the dream.

“Mister Data! Wake up! We heard a sound again!”

“YOU heard a sound again Satek!” said another young voice. “You are not meant to wake him, you were meant to make a note in your journal and return to bed!”

Data opened one eye gamely, to observe the tet-a-tet occurring between the two Vulcan children on the bed. Next to him Savil was firmly pretending to sleep, whilst leaving him the duty of dealing with the two...no three orphans that had disturbed their rest. The third child had not spoken, and was now looking into his open eye as if trying to assess his level of awakeness. Since she was very young, and still learning the ways of emotional suppression, the toddler lapsed and grinned at him.

“Wake up Data,” said T’Lar with a matter-of-fact nod. “Open both eyes please.”

Data obliged, and checked his internal chronometer as the third child climbed up to join the other two sitting on top of him. The lights had already been turned on by the children and he had to take a moment to focus his vision.

“It is not polite to wake someone at such an early hour, children,” Data admonished. “You should all be in bed now.”

“I heard a noise, and so did Saban,” said Satek, the older boy giving the younger boy with him a firm look. “And Vinek was afraid of the noise. He hid his head under the blanket.”

That roused Data more firmly than any of the other elements of this odd conversation. Vinek was the same age as Satek and had considerable difficulty with his emotional control. It had only gotten worse in the month that Data and Savil had been on the planet, mostly due to their interest in adopting a child of their own, and the Vulcan Families Council deciding to delay their decision even further until Savil’s mother’s petition for more teachers had been decided on.

Not that either of them had yet decided which child from the over thirty here would be the one they adopted. Most adoptions of Vulcan children happened very quickly after they were brought to the orphanage. It was a rarity to find a world with only one orphanage, even on other Federation worlds where there were orphanages still in operation, but Vulcan was such a place. It was the primary duty of the Vulcan Families Council to find homes for these children and they did their task quickly and efficiently. However, the sad truth was that many of these children were still here due to prejudice. Mixed race parentage, lack of obligated relatives to take them in, or lack of emotional control due to disability or childhood trauma could very much make a child seem very un-adoptable to Vulcans.

Non-Vulcan parents were rarely considered by the council, not until all other options had been exhausted, simply put, because it was illogical to send a child to a foreign world when they have already gone through considerable social upheaval with the loss of their parents. Remaining connected to Vulcan heritage would be the primary focus of any non-Vulcan parent consideration. Parents with previous experience raising Vulcan children were preferred, since they had the skills to handle children with varying degrees of emotional control. They knew what was normal and what was not.

Hence the trouble Data and Savil were having now. Staying on Vulcan at the orphanage in order to gain more experience with these children was a good idea. But once they were able to convince the council that Data would make a good parent to a Vulcan, they would have to choose which child they wanted to adopt, and the children were all putting up a very good fight at trying to make themselves seem like the best choice for the pair.

“Up Mister Data, up up!” T’Lar had taken his hand impatiently to pull on, rousing him from his moment of contemplation.

“It is rude to grab people!” Saban said matter-of-factly, even as Data allowed himself to be pulled out of bed.

This would not do. To further his cause of keeping control of this situation he lifted the girl into his arms and carried her with him, forcing the two boys to keep up a very swift pace in order to stay close behind him as he strode through the dark orphanage hallways towards the children’s dormitories.

The older teenagers were roomed in pairs and quads separately, since there were few of them and their focus was not towards adoption, but towards education and re-integration into Vulcan society. But these smaller children were all roomed together in a very open co-ed space, in rows of bunks of beds, with side tables and square storage at the ends which both gave the children some semblance of community whilst allowing them their personal space.

At his entrance all the children rose _en masse_ and got out of bed, the exact opposite thing that he wanted to happen. But in such open quarters it was not to be helped. Dormitory expansion was another thing that Savil’s mother was hoping to improve about the orphanage. Most people in the community were in denial about the need for more space, including the Family council itself. Why make more room if finding homes for the children was still successful? The request itself implied that the council could not succeed at its primary duty of placing children.

 _But there will be no more discussion about space until the subject of teachers is decided,_ Data thought to himself. _Good teachers are needed here, but they rotate frequently between postings and T’Val cannot both teach the older children and mind the younger children at the same time. It is too much for one Vulcan and the few volunteers from the community willing to give a few hours a day to help. Long term assigned instructors are needed. If the Council wants the older children to continue to be properly integrated into society they will need to approve T’Val’s request._

“Over there,” Satek was pointing towards the big open window, which overlooked the play yard and garden, but Data strode pointedly towards the bed nearer to the window, where a single child with a blanket over his head was sitting, legs poking out of the sheets even as he kept his face covered.

_Time to prove, at least to myself and these children, that I can handle a Vulcan child’s lapses in logic._

“Vinek,” said Data. “Why are you hiding?”

“I was afraid,” said the boy. “I didn’t want to be found.”

“Are you still afraid?”

“No sir.

“Then why are you still hiding?”

“Because...because it might be dangerous!” was the reply, implying, perhaps, that the child was indeed still afraid.

“If you are hiding, how would I be able to find you to protect you if you were in danger?”

The boy took the blanket away from his face very slowly. His eyes were red and he was straining not to cry.

“I never thought of that,” said the boy, looking ashamed of himself. “But what do you do when you are in danger and afraid?”

“Fear is illogical,” said Saban immediately.

Data was going to reply but he suddenly heard it, at the window, somewhere below in the yard, a ‘tach-tach-tach’, the sound of stone and sand being scraped away by claws. Vinek immediately made a shrieking sound and all the Vulcan children who had gotten out of bed ran over to the window. It was time to investigate. Data reached out to Vinek and took the choice out of his hands, picking him up the way he had picked up T’Lar and carrying the shivering child over to the window. He noted the boy had put his arms around his neck very tightly. The older children helped the younger ones by lifting them to see over the edge of the window.

“Try to see if you can spot what is causing the noise,” Data said out loud, deciding to do what T’Val had advised him to do and turn this situation into a ‘teaching moment’. “And surmise for yourselves if there is danger here.”

The yard was very dark, and very quiet despite the occasional sound of sand being scratched. Data’s eyes perceived in the dark a pair of animals, heartily at work in the vegetable garden turning up an empty bare plot under the window, both creatures being kept in the plot by invisible energy barriers.

“Who here knows what they are?” Data said, once he confirmed they could all see.

Several hands lifted. Saban was nearest. 

“Vulcan soil sifters,” said the boy once Data pointed to him. “Are large nocturnal clawed annelids, who consume clay and rock, dig deep burrows, and turn clay into soil. Their scientific name is _Annelida Vulcanis_ , and they...um…they...um...”

Saban often forgot to finish talking when the information he was in possession of ended, due to his enthusiasm for sharing information. Data decided to be merciful and not point this out to the child.

“Thank you Saban. Vinek,” Data turned to the child he had in his arms, and the youth squeaked at his name. “Do you remember why there are Soil Sifters in the garden?”

“Oh, um,” the boy paused for a moment, the fear was long gone and now information was churning through his synapses. “Savil is setting up a new garden plot for the older children to begin planting their botany projects,” he said, remembering the previous days announcements.

“Correct,” Data said, and gave them all a moment to look at the creatures before adding. “And now that you have seen that there is no threat here, it is time for bed.”

A sigh of disappointment from some of the less controlled children, the very obedient ones went straight to their beds. Data made sure Vinek was no longer afraid as he tucked him into bed, went on a cursory inventory of each bed to make sure the children were all well, and commanded the lights to dim. Blessed silence followed, the cascading sounds of breathing that was normal, and not distressed, from the beds, and he felt free to leave the dormitory, closing the door behind him.

He was not alone in the hallway. T’Val was waiting for him.

“A very satisfactory lesson,” she said in her quick blunt way of appraising someone. “But perhaps too brief? And perhaps more could have been done on the subject of privacy.”

“Indeed, but I was not certain that I had the necessary...authority...to correct misbehavior.”

“Certainly you do, I have made you and Savil temporary instructors so that you can learn the ways of Vulcan children, so in the matter of discipline you have the authority.” T’Val walked with him down the hallway back towards the adult living quarters on the premises. “However I am not displeased. It presents to me an opportunity to educate them on the function of the door chimes and their maintenance during their chore period. Their minds will be well rested and more likely to retain the information after the activities of tonight. But remember, you have the authority now to discipline, and from this moment forward I will leave it to your discretion how you decide to deal with such disruptions without my presence.”

“Thank you, T’Val, and I shall endeavor to put the education of the children before my own self-doubts in future.”

Data felt relief filling him as he entered his rooms, giving his mother-in-law a respectful nod before closing the door behind him. She had given him the benefit of the doubt, rather than strolling into the room and taking over his lesson with the children, and he appreciated her trust of him.

Savil was sitting up now at their shared desk space, the console monitor humming with activity, and he strode over to her pointedly.

“Are you unable to sleep? I should have dimmed the lights when I left.”

“No, there are only a few hours before the day starts, and I wanted to take the chance to look at my message queue before breakfast,” she replied, and pointed to the console. “You have waiting messages as well,” she closed her queue and rose from the desk in order to give him room to sit. “Since I am fully awake and I have a botany class today to oversee, I will go to the library and begin pulling the correct texts in preparation.”

Data nodded his acknowledgement, and waited until she left the room before opening his console.

Burning. Under his eyebrows. What human beings called a headache. He ignored it, and scrolled down to the newest unread message. More burning. 

_It must be a malfunction in my dream program…_ he scanned the contents of the message even as this thought went through his mind. _I am not asleep...however..._

Data cautiously began putting in the glyphs and cyphers specific to this information encryption format, which were very very very specific. The message was short and precise, but filled him with a sudden dread that made all the previous troubles behind him seem simple...even mundane by comparison.

_‘Dreamer; Message was received and will be re-transmitted. Timetable B will commence as you have suggested. Keep an eye open for further communications and prepare to move quickly when indicated. Godspeed my friend. Tempest.’_

Suddenly, almost as if a light bulb had gone off, Data realized that the fevers were not a mistake. The burning headache forming behind his eyebrows was not a malfunction. His body was behaving exactly as his creator had intended it to behave, and he was being pulled along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Vulcan children not like Spock's bullies from the movies, but more like Hermione Granger from Harry Potter. "Its levi-oh-sa, not levioh-sa!" Like first year Ravenclaws with pointy ears. lol


	3. Arrivals (Chapter 1.5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: There was only a little fixed in this chapter. Hope I caught them all this time!
> 
> This is the second half to the first chapter that I hadn't been able to write, and I've decided just to keep it separate. I hope you enjoy it. This enforced time at home has been good for getting me back into the idea of writing again, even if I have been neglecting my fan fiction.

It was nearly 3 am Bajor time when the _Sentinal_ slipped up to docking pylon 3. Aft thrusters settled down into a discordant hum as the ship struggled against the magnetic locks, their Cardassian design intended to pull ships into their control once the ship was powered down, in opposition to Starfleet’s equal coupling design. Between Chief O’Brien’s well received advice to the ship’s engineers to power down ALL engines, and _Sentinal_ ’s helmsman, who was now used to the strange docking method from their few trips out to Bajor, the shiny _Defiant_ class ship managed to make berth at the station, its namesake sister ship docked at pylon 1 by her left side. The sister ships, small and lean enough to fit in a space that wouldn’t have fit two _Galaxy_ class ships in the same way, were almost identical. However, a large number of flight mechanics were currently swarming over _Defiant_ ’s hull with sonic welders repairing tears in the ablative armor from a recent battle, whereas _Sentinal_ had the sheen of a mostly new ship with only a limited amount of battle experience. She would have her chance in due course.

As he passed by a window port towards the airlock, Doctor Julian Bashir took note of this situation, mentally calculating the names and identities of the Bajoran and Starfleet engineers who would currently be on duty, if the usual roster still held true. He could almost make out Lieutenant Heth, unusually dainty in her custom made-just-to-fit-her-wings round atmospheric suit, deftly zipping along the side of the ship to reach her next repair point. Julian smiled sadly, remembering the day he first met the young Droog mechanic.

Damn had he missed this place! Shamefully, he had even missed watching the repairs to _Defiant_ , even knowing those repairs were due to attacks that may have cost people’s lives.

The point was, it was familiar. As familiar as the rolling gear entrance airlocks. As familiar as Major Kira and Captain Sisko, both coming forward to smilingly welcome him home to Deep Space Nine, and Kira’s firm but polite welcome of Commander S’Vek and Lieutenant-Commander Cassandra Ramirs to the station. Dax was there too, and Odo and O’Brien. Worf was strangely missing, hopefully he would find out about him later.

But the best part of all was when a soft male body slipped around him from behind, and an impish voice said,

“Hi, I’m Songbird, I bet Julian’s complained loads and loads about me in communiques with his friends, let me be the first to say...he’s a horrible horrible liar! I’m an absolute angel!”

“ _Fallen_ angel perhaps,” Julian retorted.

The comment got a titter of laughter from all his friends, the joke was not lost on them, and Shavi behind them even chuckled. Dax immediately came forward with a deviously curious look to introduce herself, and to start getting to know Julian’s new husband inside and out. Anxiety suddenly filled him as she drilled the young man subtly about seemingly unimportant topics that would give her severe clues as to what he was really like. By the time the day was over she would have decided whether she liked Songbird or not, and would have formed an opinion as to the longevity of their sudden marriage.

_She’ll have several betting pools with Quark running. Number one being whether it's love or infatuation, how long it will last...and which one of us will end it..._

As to Lieutenant S’Vek, the opinion of his friends was immediate.

“Will you be staying long?” O’Brien asked, immediately grabbing Julian’s case so he could carry it to his quarters for him.

“I’ve been transferred to this sector permanently…” he said, then immediately left their company to go to the nearest turbolift to find his own quarters.

S’Vek was not a very communicative person, he had found. But S’Vek did not wait for him to get on the turbolift, which meant, at least perhaps to Julian’s way of thinking, that he had done with shadowing his every move for the time being.

_Thank God for that!_

Lieutenant Ramirs grimaced and turned to look at Julian. “I really thought they’d just drop all this by now.”

“I think S’Vek is stubborn enough to keep up this investigation until I’m gray and ready to retire,” Julian added thickly.

“Will you be staying long…?” Kira asked, more agreeable now that S’Vek was gone.

“Definitely. _Sentinal_ will be visiting DS9 regularly...S’Vek on the other hand...I’m sorry Captain Sisko...”

“Not at all,” Sisko reassured her. “We’ve been getting used to the idea that he could be posted here again…”

“I might end up with him as my Commanding officer,” Ramirs winced. “We still don’t have a captain yet. Starfleet is just burning through commanding officers right now aren’t they?”

“We have a lot of young talent, not enough ready for ships,” Sisko admitted, looking over at Kira for a moment. “But the Dominion has been quiet so far, brought in all the ships they wanted on this side, and the wormhole has gone back to mostly normal business.”

“An occasional escort or two goes through from Cardassia…” Kira said. “I wonder what they’re up to.”

“We’ll find out soon enough I’m sure,” said Ramirs. “I’d better get back on the _Sentinal,_ I have a feeling we’ll be shipping out again soon.”

A lot of unhappy looks all around. Ramirs returned to her ship and Sisko, Kira and Dax returned to Ops, Dax promising a lunch with Julian later, and teasing Songbird about finding his own quarters. Songbird brushed it off easily. He was now regaling O’Brien and Odo with a very tall tale about how many millions of people had attended his concert on Starbase 41, a base whose capacity was less than a hundred thousand. Somehow Odo had ended up carrying his luggage. As they all tried to shuffle into the cramped confines of the turbo lift, Shavi finally lost her cool.

“Songbird! Take your case! The Constable is not your valet!”

“Says the girl who made two Starfleet officers carry up the takeout?” He reminded her as he shouldered his bag. “And Jujube told me there would be valet service on this station. The way he’s been talking about it, this place is the Shangri Las of the Federation.”

“Don’t you dare drag me into this,” Julian complained, though he was secretly amused. “I never once said there were valets.”

“Doctor, you seem to have a tendency to attract people who don’t have a good relationship with the truth,” Odo opined and the laughter that followed Songbird’s immediate petulant protests were a soothing balm to his soul.

Because the weeks under constant watch aboard the _Sentinel_ had burned him. It had been a time of deep depression, little privacy, great internal raging and smoldering fury at being so openly babysat like a child. There were prolonged periods of isolation in his quarters, punctuated only with annoying visits by S’Vek and the regretful and apologetic attendance of Ramirs. And the occasional messages over the communications terminal by Songbird, who decided to speed up his travel itinerary so they could arrive on DS9 at the same time, much to Shavi’s chagrin. None of them had been given any privacy on the ship coming from Starbase 375, Julian had been kept strictly under a security chaperone to the very last second...

It had been a relief just to _hold_ him once that barrier of the metal airlock between them had opened and they had finally been together. To _kiss_ him and _feel_ him, real, male, _warm_ , under his hands. He couldn’t wait until they were finally alone so he could _unclothe_ him.

“Shouldn’t have kept you under watch for so long,” Miles was saying as they left the turbolift. “I mean really, they had no charges...what was the point?”

_The point…What was the point, really?_

“Mostly to clear my name completely,” Julian sighed. “Having S’Vek posted here is partially my idea…”

“Your idea?” Odo was incredulous.

Shavi was now giving him a severe look. She had not approved. Mostly because Songbird had dragged her to the Starbase after his concert in order to keep him company, instead of coming here to wait for him, and 375 was a mostly military post. Not much for entertainment.

“I know Novos is determined to press charges on me, but if I’m helping S’Vek by providing him full access to me and my daily activities, then the onus will be entirely on _them_.”

“S’Vek may be annoying, but he’s really good at his job,” Odo admitted.

“I think he’s the best person to completely _clear_ my name by process of his own inability to find the evidence himself. I bet he would be willing to go the extra mile to make sure Novos sees that he’s done everything he can.”

“And the longer you can drag out the investigation, the more cooperative you are, the more likely Admiral Ross will be able to convince Starfleet to drop all this,” O’Brien concluded. Julian had almost forgotten he was there.

“Or something else entirely…” Songbird said grumpily. “Like transferring you to a remote colony somewhere...Oh Jujube, I don’t like it,” Songbird used the new pet name he had come up for him, which Julian secretly really hated but pretended to love. “But it is a good legal tactic. They can’t continue their shadowy investigations if you are being so free and open with information about yourself.”

“Not until they have something new to peg on you anyway,” O’Brien finally decided as they entered his quarters. “Well, we kept your place yours, so you can get back into the swing of things quickly. Uh Songbird,” Miles was clearly feeling awkward in talking to the much younger man now married to his best friend. Severely awkward. “We’ve gone ahead and sent all your music stuff to the bar for your audition. 16:00 hours, Quark said, or not at all. Sorry.”

“Tonight! Dammit I’ve barely even been in the same room as Julian since we were married and I have to get ready for an audition already! Oh well, all right...I have plenty of material I can cobble together...”

Julian just chuckled and stepped through his quarters, almost in a daze as he took in his bed, his things, Kukaluka on the pillow...everything where he had left it. He heard the hiss of the outside doors closing as O’Brien and Odo departed, the sound of Shavi and Songbird arguing about where she was going to be living, and he looked up at the ceiling and laughed. And laughed until Songbird finally came in to see if he was all right, putting two arms around around his waist and looking at him with worry in his eyes

“My sweet little bird,” he said, and kissed the man’s head. “I’m _home_. _We’re_ home.”

And then he laughed again when Shavi pointedly left to go find her _own_ quarters so they could be alone. They were finally alone.

“So what do you want to do now?” Songbird asked slyly.

As if he even had to ask.


	4. Drinking Songs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Minor edits here, but its important to me to go over and try to catch the punctuation mark errors that seem to be a result of incompatibility of the program I used to write with.

The sound of laughter filled the Risan air as the Starfleet Captain and his security ensigns materialized on the beach. A beach ball flew past their faces, and Captain Edward Jellico ducked his head back with a laugh. The security guards were immediately at alert.

“At ease boys, these kids are just having fun,” he smiled at the two Bolian boys, who ran off into the water with their ball in a peal of laughs, as unaware of the other two as any children were of outsiders watching them play.

The moment of innocence was broken only by the continued passing of people along the beach. The nearby boardwalk, which was their target, was emptying quickly of Risan women, who approached them with flower garlands and offers of traditional massage. One Risan male followed, rather curiously, to see if his gender was more preferred by them. Captain Jellico waved them all off with a polite but firm look, and quickly found his feet again along the familiar walkway.

How could he have forgotten! A lot of his own misbegotten young ensign days had been spent sneaking off to this destination at shore leave time, with various other ensign friends in tow. Often _he_ was the one accepting the offers of these girls, and dragging his laughing friends along with him! How he had become the hidebound by the book man he was, he had no idea.

_Battlefields, that’s probably how…if it hadn’t been for Sam, that one time...I owe this man my Captaincy, really. He’s always been there for me, whenever I asked. I must do the same. And speak of the Devil..._

It wasn’t hard to find Samuel Morgan. He was laying on a beach chair just off the boardwalk, near to a frequent old haunt of theirs called ' _The Sun Sisters Massage Salon,'_ which offered traditional massage, among other things.

Lying there under the warm Risan sun, Morgan was the picture of the perfectly typical tourist, wearing the tackiest unbuttoned green pineapple Hawaiin shirt and khaki shorts, and bright pink neon palm tree sun shades over his eyes. It was so dorky that it had to have been done intentionally; Jellico had made some very bad fashion choices during their youth on their trips to Risa, and Morgan had often played along.

Unfortunately his friend had lost a lot of muscle in 10 years, the scars and signs of his long imprisonment tracing their unforgiving web of pain across his skin. Had he not chosen his outlandish wardrobe, he might not have been recognizable at all.

“Sam,” Edward Jellico was trying not to wince at seeing his friend in this state. “It's been forever…”

“Ten years in fact,” Morgan sat up, to take the hand he was being offered. “Corbin 6…”

“That colony we were settling...Jesus, I almost forgot about that!”

“I couldn’t ever forget,” Morgan sat up, removing the sunglasses, his strange violet eyes filled only with warmth. “It was my last mission before the Talar conflict broke out. How about we find some shade and have a drink?”

There was a tiki bar near the beach, with chairs under sun umbrellas and scantily clad waiters. It was almost like going back in time, ordering a silly fruity cocktail with a fancy umbrella and a pineapple twist, giving the Ensigns orders to go find something close nearby to do that didn’t involve Horgahns and Risan honeys.

“How cruel,” Morgan said in mock despair, putting both hands to his heart. “They’re only young once, Ed.”

“Yeah, and these youngsters have to learn quickly how much they can get away with if they want to stay on my ship. As soon as they’re out of sight, I bet they’ll be finding something beautiful with long legs to get to know. It had better be a Risan flamingo if they know what’s good for ’em.”

“Tough luck, well you always were a bit of a hard nose, but you always got things done…”

“That’s for sure,” the cocktail was a bit too fruity for his current taste, but had been his favorite when he was in his twenties. “Which brings me to the subject at hand…”

“You don’t waste time do you Ed?” Morgan sighed. “I should have known you wouldn’t…But I was hoping for just a little more time to talk about old times...”

“I do too, but what happened, it’s bad business Sam, bad business…”

“Bad business? You sound like an Admiral Ed…”

“Oh don’t say that!” Jellico rolled his eyes as he leaned forward into his chair. “You know they want to make me one?”

“Well if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…” Morgan let it trail off, with a grin...too big a grin.

“Sam...What the hell is going on?” Jellico mentally cursed himself for losing his temper with his friend, but it was a reasonable reaction. “Why did you cut off Andoria’s power? Why steal your own belongings? Why not just ask for…?”

The look in Samuel Morgan’s eyes, that calm, questioning smile that indicated far deeper levels of understanding than him, had always bothered Jellico in the past. Now he knew the source of that deep understanding didn’t come from arrogance, but did in fact come from superior mental skills, and he was starting to feel like the pawn in the game he was starting to realize he was.

“It wasn’t just unimportant personal items in that storage locker was it?” Jellico finally decided. “They wouldn’t have given them back...”

“Right!” Morgan nodded, the smile still on his face. “Novos wasn’t sure exactly what was important about my wristwatch but I was very specific about him not letting anyone get their hands on it. It was bad to entrust it to him. But you would have to actually be an Admiral for me to tell you what the watch contained. Just be grateful it didn’t involve you.”

“Sam…”

“ _Ed_ , Starfleet sent you looking for me because they knew, they _knew_ I wasn’t coming back to the fold, and that I know too much! After the war ended they could have asked for my return and didn’t...and it wasn’t because I was an Augment! Though...I’m not the only Augment who has been left in a foreign prison...but that’s another matter. My reason for all my actions are simple: the Factions are meeting again.”

“The _Factions_ …”

Edward felt his chest filling with something that was either dread, or phlegm. Maybe he was getting old. Maybe a ghost from the past had taken up residence in his ribcage, rattling its chains on his bones and sending its icy breath along through his veins, for he started coughing heavily, and only spoke once he regained some air. “You’ve gotta be kidding me? It's been 200 years since Khan’s death! There are no Factions left!”

“You aren’t that naive,” Morgan admonished. “They exist to this day, disguised as various political parties, and they have been active.”

“But why haven’t I heard of this before, Sam?”

“There have been hot flashes...The moon bombing, for example…”

“That was them?”

It was the most famous terrorist attack on Earth, well, on the Moon, in over a hundred years. A hospital had been destroyed by a group opposed to the experimental genetic engineering treatments going on at the facility there, mostly due to the young age of the patients, who couldn’t consent at their age.

“It was, indeed, the work of one Faction. The Children Of Khan, I do believe. They claimed at the time to be a part of the ‘Protect Our Children’ political group, were probably using that group as a shield for their activities…” Morgan sighed, and leaned forward. “Starfleet covers up Faction activities with alternative explanations quite often, you see; ‘small isolated incidents’ are reported, or missing ships are attributed to ‘unknown anomaly in space’, that sort of thing. Now that the masks are gone I have a responsibility to my Faction...”

“ _Your_ Faction?” Edward felt his temper roiling up again. “ _Your Faction_?? How could you be any part of that Sam? You are a _Starfleet Officer_! What about your responsibility to the Federation? To Andoria!”

It was the wrong move. He knew it the moment it came out of his mouth.

“Not doing anything would itself be dangerous to Andoria and to the entire _Federation,_ ” Morgan said, with a hard icy edge of steel to his voice that Edward rarely was the subject of. “And Starfleet is flailing about trying to get even the tiniest bit of information about their...our...activities, going after any individual Augment they can. Poor Doctor Bashir’s current plight is a direct result of their obsession with us. It's only going to get worse before it gets better, Ed, I can’t just sit in a Captain’s chair again and do nothing...”

“Sam…”

“What Starfleet doesn’t know,” Morgan pressed on. “What I came here to _tell_ you is that the Factions signed a treaty, agreeing to end the fighting with one another, agreeing to a cease fire until a successor came to replace Khan, and laying out the terms of that succession. If the Factions are meeting soon, they are meeting to discuss the treaty itself, and whether it still stands. I have to be there...to represent my own Faction.”

“What are you saying, Sam?”

“I’m saying that if the Factions decide to fight it out over leadership, the Federation will get caught in the crossfire. Someone has to be the voice of reason, and try to bring peaceful discourse into the fold. So here,” he handed Jellico a PADD that he hadn’t noticed in the man’s hand. “This is my formal resignation from Starfleet. So that there will be no conflict of interest.”

So there it was. Jellico felt the wind all go out of his sails all at once. His friend, Samuel Morgan, was part of something that stood against everything Starfleet and the Federation stood for. The Factions...dedicated to bringing back the rule of Augments over other human beings. And he was smiling so sadly, so apologetically, that Jellico realized he had already forgiven him. His friend had always gone his own way, done his own thing, and had never asked his approval or his advice, had only ever been honest.

Morgan wasn’t asking his permission to leave Starfleet. Nor was he asking forgiveness. He was asking for a clean break. Jellico very much had orders to return to his ship with Samuel Morgan, if he could manage it.

But Jellico had always been a man of some integrity, even if he did as much as he could by the rules. Morgan was promising to try and resolve this Faction business peacefully, if anything he was saying was true. But if he was lying...then how could their friendship survive it?

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” Jellico decided, rising to his feet and picking up the PADD with finality. “I believe that you are telling the truth about this. But if people die because I let you go…”

“I can’t promise the other Factions won’t act before I can meet with them…but I can promise I will try to prevent as much death as I can...” Morgan looked determined. “If it is any consolation, I don’t expect to survive if I fail. But I don’t plan to fail...I mustn’t,” his eyes took on a weirdly reverent look. “Not if I ever want to return to Risa and drink cocktails with you again.”

Jellico chuckled, feeling something of the warmth coming back to the air, though that old haunter in his chest was once again blowing warnings against his ribcage. He wasn’t doing so well himself, if he was honest, and maybe he would be able to take some time off soon from the Dominion front to just take care of himself. Starfleet couldn’t afford to send Captains on holidays anymore.

“Take care of yourself Sam…”

“You too Ed, don’t let them promote you. You are way too ornery to be an admiral, you’d be bored stiff after the first day!”

Captain Edward Jellico laughed heartily, the first real good belly laugh he’d had in awhile, and left his friend, still sipping cocktails and once again wearing those ridiculous sunglasses.

His ensigns were chatting up some Risan women when Jellico finally found them. With a laugh he inserted himself into the group to break up the party.

“Boys, let me tell you, these ladies will still be here when you have your next shore leave. Make an effort to plan to be here…”

“Ah, but mom would kill me if I didn’t go home to Earth for shore leave.”

“Son, never mention your mother in front of the beautiful lady you want to get with…” he winked at the girls, feeling his younger self creeping back in for just a moment, then led his moping ensigns back to the beam up point. “Jellico to Cairo, three to beam up.”

\----------

Samuel James Morgan was still sipping his cocktail when Sala Gabriel returned to join him, looking sexy and deadly in her gold and black one piece, dark shades over her eyes and hair fully combed out from its former braided state into a straight neat shimmering curtain. He wanted to know what sort of haircare witchcraft had to have gone into this miracle of modern fashion she was presenting. Yet, her appearance opposed her intentions, as she sat down at Edward Jellico’s abandoned seat with all the severity of a school teacher chiding a student.

“You weren’t serious about that promise were you?” she hissed. “Do you know how many we’ve already…?”

“Relax, Angel,” he used her codename on purpose, she needed to get used to using their code names casually and not using real names unless meeting with someone who knew her. “He isn’t aware yet as to how severely broken down the peace has become. Did you manage to get into their ship’s systems?”

“Easy,” she pulled the isolinear rod from a pocket in her bathing suit he hadn’t noticed. He had to chuckle at the ingenuity of women. She hadn’t used her cleavage, where he had been looking, an obvious location, and she demonstrated with the arm of her sunglasses the reason why she kept that location clear. It was the best place for the delicate eyewear really, perfectly situated between two soft pillows. “You’re staring.”

“I’m sorry, but I am still a man, sitting with a beautiful woman, what am I supposed to do?” he looked at her, leaning in and putting his chin on his hands, balancing on his elbows. “You need to learn to blend into your environment more. Just putting on a bathing suit isn’t enough…”

“I suppose,” she leaned forward the same way as he called over a waitress to buy her a drink. “It is rather nice taking a break.”

“We both needed it. You are about to perform an act a complete and utter master actress couldn’t recreate, you know,” he winked at her. “You know what to do?”

“It’ll be a cinch,” she rolled her eyes at his exaggeration. “The timing could be better...but once we check the recent mission logs on that rod, we’ll have a better idea of who they’ll send where…”

Morgan nodded, and leaned back again to take up his glass again as the waitress put his companion’s down on the table.

“A toast then? To old friends…and new ones...”

“Cheers.”

\-------

Quark was not having a very good day. It started with Songbird stumbling late into the bar, complaining about a fever but refusing stubbornly to use up his ‘one sick day a month’, a policy he’d been saddled into in the contract they had signed after his audition, (which Quark reluctantly admitted was a brilliant rendition of a classic Ferengi vibrational aria.) Sisko was away with the Defiant at some meeting with Starfleet brass at another space station, leaving Kira in charge, and both the Starfleet and Bajoran officers were nervous about the lack of _Defiant_ on duty, despite the _Sentinel_ being docked.

The day continued its sour way along with a large number of Klingons, returning from their patrol of the DMZ, all asking Songbird to lead them in an opera favorite of a fallen comrade, all of them drunk and singing of glorious battle and carnage. Once again Songbird was brilliant and the most amazing voice in the group, despite his fever and sweating, pounding on his keyboard and screaming out the anthem of Melota’s revenge for the murder of Achtung with all the emotion of the role that any person could muster. Every Klingon in the room had bought him several drinks and filled his tip jar to burst, and the clapping, foot stomping approval had caused the tables on the second level to vibrate and a glass on the bar to fall over and shatter.

Quark was happy and fine with that. Most of his glasses were replicated after all. It was money in the bank to let them go crazy, since he got a share of Songbird’s tips.

But the sour note that fully twisted the normally patient Ferengi's lobes was the near kidnapping of Doctor Bashir.

Quark had been sitting behind the bar, fortunately for everyone involved, when Bashir arrived to do a cursory medical scan of Songbird, whose fever had been getting worse during the whole evening and who was complaining that he would take a day off the day he couldn’t sing. Bashir had come at Quark’s own request, Ferenginar’s health and safety inspectors were almost as bad as FCA Liquidators in their eagerness to catch you on any tiny infraction. A sick employee was a fine he didn’t want to pay.

“You’ll kill yourself,” Bashir chided Songbird, and gave Quark an appologetic look. “It's Bajoran flu. He’s not contagious yet, but he should be taken to the infirmary for treatment and isolation.”

“Doc, you didn't see the standing ovation he got an hour ago, _with_ the fever, I’m willing to give him up for a little while if he can do that again with the next bunch of Klingons that come around!”

Songbird gave him a weak smile, and stumbled along beside Bashir towards the exit.

They almost made it too. Three men entered the bar just as they were exiting it, and stopped upon spotting the pair. Bashir took one look at the two bulky security officers, and Commander S’Vek between them, and pushed Songbird behind him.

There was no warning besides that, the punch landed on the doctor’s chin and sent him flying over a dabo table. Songbird swore an oath and stumbled over to try and help and was grabbed from behind and thrown the other way, hands outstretched as he crashed into the decorative mirror behind the bar. Quark shrieked at the men to stop, as two more patrons had tried to intervene, only to also be knocked down on their rumps by the large pair. Quark was calling security by instinct, hitting the button for Odo’s office.

“Quark to security!” he yelled. “Bar fight!”

Both men ignored Quark entirely, picking the doctor up again to give the disoriented man another strong sock to the head, knocking him right out.

But Songbird wasn’t out, nor down, not by any stretch, he crawled behind the bar along broken glass and debris, and pulled himself up to his feet.

“Quark, they’re kidnapping him,” Songbird said, grabbing Quark’s arm with one bleeding hand, “Call OPS! Tell them to lockdown the station!”

“Are you sure…?” Quark asked, just as the two beefy guards hauled Bashir to his feet and started dragging him from the bar.

He didn’t look like he was alive, let alone conscious. S’Vek followed them at a quick step, having not thrown a single punch himself.

“Just do it!” Songbird looked miserable, with a fever and now bleeding everywhere. “I’ve had my flu shot, damn, this should NOT be happening!”

“Bajoran flu has different kinds, which shot did you get?” Quark remembered, as he dialled up ops, mentally calculating how much dry cleaning would cost, and whether he would take it out of Songbird’s paycheck or bill Starfleet for it. “Quark to ops! Doctor Bashir is being kidnapped! Lock down the station!”

“Quark?” Major Kira’s incredulous voice replied. “What’s going on?”

“They’re taking Bashir! Starfleet came in, beat him up, and dragged him out! Turn off transporters!”

“This is taking too long,” Songbird complained, his head was now between his knees and he was back on the floor. “Where’s Shavi?”

Quark wasn’t sure, but Kira must have realized the seriousness because a yellow alert was issued and all shields were raised.

Odo finally arrived, locked the bar, and began questioning witnesses. It was only when Quark was in the middle of arguing with Morn over how much money he had lost when the Dabo table he’d been gambling at had been knocked over that Odo asked him why Songbird was on the floor behind the bar bleeding to death.

“...”

Doctor Girani quickly arrived after that to save the day. Odo’s communicator cheeped, indicating that security had stopped the kidnappers in an upper pylon corridor on their way to the _Sentinal_ , and Odo sped off, leaving him to issue refunds and coupons to unhappy guests and clean up the mess of glass and broken furniture. It was not a good day. Not for anyone involved. He hoped it was at least profitable.

\--------

“JUST WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”

“Starfleet Security Commander S’Vek,” came the sarcastic retort.

“I fucking know who you are!” said Kira, dropping all formality. “KIDNAPPING is still a CRIME on Bajor!”

“Doctor Bashir isn’t being kidnapped, he’s being arrested.”

“I disagree,” Odo moved away from the corridor wall where he had been leaning casually since they had finally caught up with the three would be kidnappers and their quarry. “The witnesses at the bar said that your men threw the first punch, and no charges were formally pressed.”

“Our orders were to take the Augment into custody by any means necessary,” said the biggest of the two goons that S’Vek had with him. “With Augments you could have your neck broken before you open your mouth.”

“I don’t give a vole’s tail about what your orders were, and who gave them!” Kira said, lacing her voice with the thick venom she knew she was famous for. “This...is... _Bajor_. Bajoran law rules. And Odo is the Bajoran chief of security. All arrests...ALL arrests, civilian or military, must go through his office and you went around him.”

“Our orders came from Admiral Ross.”

“What??”

Bashir and Kira said it at the same time. She turned to look at him startled. He had been unconscious a moment ago, his injuries being assessed by Jabara to be certain it was safe to move him. He had been looking rather limp.

“Major,” Nurse Jabara’s pretty face was scrunched up with worry and anger. “He has a serious concussion, fractured skull, and multiple sprains and bruises. Julian may be an Augment but he wasn’t designed for fighting!”

“His medical record says otherwise,” S’Vek countered, mild fascination in his voice. “How strange…Didn’t you fight off a hoard of Jem’Hadar on Rubicun III?”

“Irrelevant,” Odo said. “Witnesses said he had no warning before you assaulted him. The onus is still on you.”

“And I don’t recall _ever_ giving my permission for anyone to look at my medical information!” Bashir said, still disoriented, his left eyelid looking dangerously droopy. “Why is the one Admiral I thought was on my side having me kidnapped? No, excuse me, _arrested_?” he put his hands up and did what humans called ‘air-quotes’, but the sarcasm wasn’t lost on Kira. “How can I trust that the charges will be anything more than the ghosts you’ve tried to pin to me before? Are there even any actual charges? Or was this an elaborate ruse to lock me away without trial?”

“We’re following orders,” S’vek said, and if Kira didn’t know better, she could have sworn he was following a script.

He was certainly very good at acting like a prick.

“Do you know how many atrocities have occurred because of people just following orders?” Kira demanded. “If Admiral Ross wanted him he should have gone through the official channels. Me, Captain Sisko, and Constable Odo.”

“Major,” Bashir lifted his head up again, he was struggling to keep it upright. “I would like to formally request political asylum from the Bajoran government.”

Silence. Major Kira felt her heart sinking deep into the pit of her stomach at the unspoken implication. S’Vek actually looked intrigued more than anything else.

“Of course,” she sighed. “Do you have a preference for an Advocate?”

“Constable Odo,” Bashir said, finally being helped to his feet by the Changeling in question. 

Nurse Jabara closed her kit. “Straight to the infirmary!”

S’Vek’s goons looked like they would protest but Kira rounded on them hotly.

“And don’t you even think of going anywhere near him, or so much as touching him without permission granted by the Bajoran government, or you will really really live to regret it!”

“Is that a threat Major?” S’Vek said, one eyebrow raised in that penultimate Vulcan way.

“It's a promise,” she said, smiling with such honey and venom that any wasp would be envious. “Now you three, come with me, we’re going to make our report to Sisko and Admiral Ross in real time, so I can confirm what you have said for myself, savvy?”

Odo gave her an approving smile as he beamed away with Bashir and the nurse. She was relieved Bashir chose him; Odo took his Advocacy duties as seriously as any other duty when he was appointed, and she could trust him to keep these presumptive Starfleet officers in line.

But she couldn’t shake the instinct, at the back of her mind as she marched back to ops, S’Vek and goons in tow, that everything had gone exactly as the Vulcan had planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Kira is as fun to write as I imagine she was fun for the actress to play. Jellico as the wild young officer who turned mature and straight laced is something I really like, and hope I can incorporate more of.


	5. In Times of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Minor edits here. Rewrite is going smoother than I thought. I'm keeping most of what I wrote so far, which is great.

Songbird felt his chest hurting as he slid over to sit beside Julian on the biobed, his face a mask of inscrutable emotions. Was he more angry or scared? His eyes were filled with emotions that were a mixture of all the questions that couldn’t be answered. But Songbird could recognize the tell-tale signs of an Augment doing the calculations in his head; that slight distancing of the eyes, the odd glassiness, as if the human part of the mind had to be put into hibernation to allow the calculator brain to take over. One eye was drooping unsteadily, Doctor Girani insisted that trying to treat a concussion with a regenerator could cause complications, and Julian's regenerative blood was working quickly to repair the damage. A bone knitter was all Girani dared to use on his head. Sometimes time _was_ the greater healer.

Songbird reached up gentle fingers to touch the soft bruise over the left cheek. Julian didn’t move or speak.

“I want to know what happened too,” Songbird said, feeling his own heart aching for his lover, right down to his core. “My Father has never done anything without thinking through every political and personal fall out. Maybe I have blinders as his son, but I have always considered him to be the most honest of the bunch.”

Julian’s eyes only barely moved.

“I did too...still do. I just want to know why he wanted me to request asylum...he had already known I would take this step if an arrest without cause occurred. I told him as much on Parliament. I wasn’t going to be held hostage to make Novos look like he was solving the ‘Augment’ problem, a problem that doesn’t exist.”

“It’s a bigger problem than you know darling,” Songbird wasn’t sure he could use the word ‘darling’, but Julian didn’t object. He hadn’t objected to Jujube though, and he knew Julian hated it. He could just tell. “You were just the catalyst...I’m sorry.”

“Just how much do you know about what other Augments are doing right now?” Julian’s eyes turned to look at him, still inscrutable, yet smoldering with another type of betrayal.

A burning that hurt them both. Songbird looked around the room to be sure nobody was listening, and took Julian’s face in both hands, which he allowed. So newly met and married, there was a lot of trust that needed to be earned.

“I’m a member of a group called The Thread. We consider ourselves...neutral...within the Factions.”

“The…” Julian’s face was severely alarmed. “Oh my god...So this is why Novos is so on alarm about Augments. The Factions?”

“Yes, the Factions never really disbanded, just went quiet for awhile. But the Thread is mostly a free communication network,” Songbird added hastily. “We share information with one another in an anonymous and secure way, all over the quadrant. And Dad knows. I give him information, and I share information he gives me. Starfleet knows. They encourage me to find out whatever I can.”

If Julian was surprised, he didn’t say it, instead he laughed ironically.

“How do I always end up with spies?”

“Julian, if I didn’t share information with The Thread, they wouldn’t trust me. But everything is talked about. Every subject. Not just the political. It's a forum for all high levelled intellects, not only Augments, there are some Vulcans, and Romulans there who would be arrested for participating. Binars who would prefer to be individuals rather than pairs. Do you understand? It's a free speech forum. But its secrecy protects its vulnerable members you see? Some worlds execute people for some of the topics discussed. You can join if you want. You’ll find a lot of doctors there.”

Julian was startled, taken off guard. Songbird smiled at him wanly, it was a rather sudden offer. A tempting offer. But he recognised the exact second Julian decided not to join.

“I trust you to tell the truth, but I don’t feel right about it...not yet. Not when I’m being watched all the time. Even if Starfleet knows about it, that doesn’t mean they approve of its use for officers.”

Songbird grimaced, and put his arms around Julian to hold him. It was just then that the doctor noticed the freshly mended skin on his hands.

“Were you badly hurt?” he reached to take Songbird’s hands delicately to examine the regenerative healing lines. “Anything broken?”

“Just my pride. Some sprains, an artery in my arm got cut. I’m more worried Quark might dock me for getting blood on him,” he joked, but he really was seriously concerned that the Ferengi's expensive taste in clothing would result in an expensive bill for him. “And since half the station probably has Bajoran flu right now, I’m going to quarantine in our quarters with you…”

“Best place really,” Julian frowned, and before he could continue, Doctor Girani, Nurse Jabara, Constable Odo and Major Kira all entered into the room.

“Well,” said Kira, one hand on hip, on hand gesturing wildly towards a random console. “Sisko and Ross are going to meet with some captains to discuss this matter in private... _without_ us. And Shakaar is going to take time with your Asylum request, until he knows what Starfleet intends by all this. So…”

“So,” Odo strode forward. “We get together all the evidence of the witch hunt that you’ve been under since you left Bajor for Parliament, and present it in hearing, and S’Vek,” Odo practically growled his name, “Will present Starfleet’s request and evidence for extradition.”

Julian shivered, and Songbird leaned forward.

“And Admiral Ross didn’t say anything about the reason for doing this?”

“Only,” Kira said, looking stressed. “That it was...Unfortunately necessary. And he was firmly sorry for the physical violence and gave S’Vek and those two meatheads a formal reprimand. It was supposed to be ‘discreet and peaceful.’”

“As if!” Songbird protested.

“No…” Julian frowned. “No. And I wouldn’t have fought if they had just formally requested me. I still want to be a doctor, even if I was reassigned somewhere else.”

“You WILL be a doctor!” Kira said and looked at Girani pointedly as she said this. “A Bajoran doctor! You already are _haj a kai_ …”

“And helped our doctors to rebuild the Bajoran Medical Association from the ground up,” Girani added. “Our vaccination programs and viral research centers are all directly due to your work, Doctor Bashir.”

“And the medical trainee program,” Jabara added softly. “Nurses practically beg to come out here for field training. It has made all the difference. We learn so much more than staying in a home town clinic.”

Songbird could see the warmth and pride of the Bajoran medical officers, the agreement of Kira, the quiet approval of Odo, and the reluctant light of acceptance and embarrassed gratitude in Julian’s eyes. That one eye was no longer drooping and some of the clear headedness was coming back into his expression.

“This is really the place I want to be,” he said, putting one arm around Songbird, and pulling him in for a reassuring hug. “This is home...now.”

“We’ll celebrate!” Songbird said, feeling the joy so lost before returning to his chest. “We’ll have a party!”

“You’ll go into quarantine in your quarters,” Girani countered firmly. “Both of you, you’re human, so Bajoran flu reacts to you both the same way. But it reacts to other races differently. We need to prevent this thing from mutating. We don’t need six strains of Bajoran flu here!”

“I thought there were only two?” Songbird said as Julian unsteadily rose to his feet.

“Two that we have vaccines for,” Julian said, and winced. “A doctor’s work is never done…At least it's not fatal to humans...”

Songbird suddenly felt a thrill of dread. A sudden putting of two and two together, and Julian must have felt it too, for he held Songbird tightly and looked at him severely.

“Computer!” Songbird shrieked. “Where is Shavi Kavin?”

“Shavi Kavin’s current location is unknown.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Songbird felt his whole world tilt.

“Computer! What was her last location?” Odo said immediately.

“Last known location for Shavi Kavin was Cargo bay four.”

Silence followed.

\-------

They found her, thankfully unconscious, and still barely clinging to life, in the cargo bay in question. She had gone to the cargo bay to check on the rest of their equipment, which was too bulky for Quark's, and was only used during concerts. Large spotlights and sound speakers and amplifiers acted as sentries, surrounding her unconscious form as Doctor Girani bent down to scan her, pulling loose wires from around her face. Those wires had caught and cradled the woman as she had collapsed, keeping her face from hitting the ground. Her combadge, however, had been smashed with the impact with the floor.

“No way...no way to know how Bajoran flu would affect a Selelvian, the tricorder is telling me she also has the Rot, which is incurable, damn,” she scanned the prone women and instructed the nurses to hook her up to a ventilator immediately. “This is bad…her lungs are full of fluid...”

“Do you think Songbird knew about her previous disease?” Odo queried her, as the medical team worked to untangle Shavi from the wires and safely move her onto a hoverbed.

“ _We_ didn’t know,” Girani hissed, and shook her head. “She shouldn’t have kept it a secret, she’s a healthy woman with a long life if she takes care of herself, in the right environment…”

“Ah, that would be the keyword. A woman who manages a young musician probably isn’t going to like the idea of living in a cottage somewhere in the middle of nowhere…”

If Girani had a response to that, she didn’t make it, just gave instructions to the computer for a transport and the whole medical team, with their patient, dematerialized immediately.

Odo took a moment to give his team instructions for investigating this cargo bay and all the others prior to the quarantine procedures that were bound to begin the minute Girani arrived in sickbay. Sure enough the doctor’s shrewd voice came over the speaker system as soon as Odo was in the turbolift, declaring a quarantine situation and instructing civilians to stay in their homes and contact medical staff remotely if they had health concerns. Medical teams would treat people at home. Odo was accustomed to Bajoran flu quarantines, they came once a year and usually with great regularity, and being immune to the illness himself, felt confident to return to his duties, leaving the Bajoran officers to finish their investigation of the cargo bay. They wouldn’t find anything of note, he knew, but he never left anything uninspected. This was his station, his territory, his domain.

Which was why he was surprised, later that day, when his security ensign returned from one of the cargo bays with a large packet of illegal narcotics, a smug and amused S’Vek in tow.

The storm had begun.

\------

Admiral Ross sat down heavily, feeling the coming meeting filling him with dread, as a still furious Captain Sisko and a confused Captain Picard joined him in the conference room, both men sitting on either side of him, Sisko on his right, Picard on his left. Commander Riker also joined him, as the odd man out the only Commander, sitting to Picard’s left, and finally, as the only feminine counterpoint in this masculine mess, Captain Shelby followed and took Sisko’s right. She was looking frustrated and concerned to be pulled into the station from her round of the Demilitarized Zone.

They were just waiting for Nacheyev to connect remotely over the viewscreen, she’d been out at Parliament finishing up all the details of Rubicun III’s petition to join the Federation, and her ship had finally reached home this morning.

The computer terminal indicated finally that she was ready, and Ross felt the weight of the world filling his chest as he connected her to the viewscreen and called the room to order.

“Thank you everyone. Before I go further, I must formally apologize to Captain Sisko, for the violence my officers did to your Doctor. It was not my intent, and I take full responsibility for this mess.”

“Admiral, I want an explanation, not apologies!”

He deserved the accusation in that statement. He really did.

“You’ll have it all, Ben, as it relates to the reason I called you here. Ladies and Gentlemen,” he heaved a sigh. “Admiral Nakamura committed suicide last night,” he let that shocking information sink into the room for a moment and noted the looks of alarm, grief and sadness with keen interest. “Admiral Novos is now charging Captain Samuel Morgan with blackmail and conspiracy. This evidence was found in Nakumura’s room with his body…”

Ross pushed forward a data PADD, which contained some very unfortunate pictures of the deceased man in question, engaged in very questionable actions. He had not decided to share the more explicit ones, he had respected Nakamura enough to give the man his privacy, even in death. But...

“It's pretty damningly obvious that Nakamura was involved in some way with the Orion Syndicate and Morgan sent him these pictures to force his cooperation in some way.”

Picard’s face was very green as he went over the pictures, his disgust showing in his eyes. His ship was currently in woebegotten shape, in serious need of repair from a recent skirmish, and he had been unable to visit Vulcan to retrieve his two vacationing officers. Some sort of delay had occurred on Vulcan as well. So Ross was going to have to push the issue, and order Commander Data to return to duty...by shuttlecraft if need be. _Enterprise_ needed its 2nd officer back. But he was going to make sure Nechayev was agreeable to any actions and orders he gave in regards to the _Enterprise_ , Picard was technically under Nacheyev’s command.

Ross waited until Sisko had reviewed the information, Shelby looking as furious as Sisko had been when he arrived, and Riker looking mostly confused. As soon as Ross had the PADD back in his hands, his confusion was voiced.

“I understand the blackmail, if Morgan was responsible, but what does Doctor Bashir have to do with this?”

“Ah, you were wondering too,” Picard smiled at his Commander, approvingly. The two men could be twins the way they seemed to know each other’s thoughts.

“It has to do with Captain Edward Jellico. If you’ll recall, we sent him to look for Morgan, to bring him back into line…”

Ross related to them Jellico’s report, his controversial decision to let the man leave without taking him into custody, which had caused Novos to order Jellico to the Klingon border, probably one of the least dangerous borders the Federation had, irony of ironies. But most importantly, Ross shared the unverified revelation of the Factions and their supposed peace treaty.

“The Factions,” Picard settled into his chair. “Merde. How long has it been since they last showed up?”

“The moon bombing is Starfleet’s last ‘official’ report of their existence,” Ross said. “Though most people aren’t aware they were a part of that. Before the moon, they robbed a Federation convoy hoping to begin their own empire. And believe it or not...they succeeded in a manner of speaking. Today there’s a nice little colony of Augments in that neutral patch of space near Ferenginar. The planet they inhabit is called Mistletoe and they call their small empire the ‘Neutrality’. I’m sure you’ve heard of them at least once.”

“You’re kidding?” Shelby was startled. “I pass Neutrality space all the time, I’ve seen nothing to indicate Faction type activities!”

“Jesus, I’ve had shore leave on Mistletoe!” Riker said. “Never would have known they were augmented humans. They’re so peaceful...”

“That’s the trap,” Nacheyev said. “Thinking that augments are all Khan wannabes. Most likely they aren’t involved with the Factions at all.”

“Most likely they aren’t…” Ross sighed. “Most likely they are...there’s no way to know. We have no records of Faction activity since the moon bombings. To hear about them now...”

“The moon bombings,” Picard was considering his words. “That was a hundred years ago...Surely we would have seen their activities in Federation space if they were still active. And Riker is quite right, the Neutrality is quite peaceful, does trade with Ferenginar and has many other races inhabiting their beautiful worlds.”

“But if this is true,” Nacheyev brought them back to the original topic of discussion, “If the Factions are meeting again, it certainly explains a great deal. Certainly we have so many reports these days along all of our borders of missing ships...strange attacking vessels, strange space anomalies…”

“Easiest cover up in the Alpha Quadrant,” Riker said, giving Shelby a wry grin. “Ship gone missing? Must have been an anomaly in space.”

“Too right, Number One,” Picard sat upright. “And without knowing if Morgan was being honest or trying to lace Jellico with the information he wanted us to hear…”

“Naturally…” Ross looked at Nachevyev. “We know Novos was well aware that Morgan had pictures to blackmail Nakamura with. So,” he turned to Sisko. “Novos is hoping to smokescreen this by latching onto the issue of the Factions. His plan, and Alynna, forgive me that you are hearing this first now, but his plan is to isolate all known Augments into a single colony...the old prisoner of war camp from the Klingon-Federation war, near the Klingon border. 53 I think is the number...Bashir would have been the first...citizen...of this colony.”

He noted the startled looks on the faces of the other people in the room, but pressed on, to dispel the outrage he knew was going to follow.

“He already has the approval of President Jaresh-Inyo, who is very much a peacetime president and has been scrambling to keep his head above the tides of war.”

“Do you know when he wants to start gathering people to send to this...colony?” Riker said, his eyebrow arched, eyes sharp.

“Soon, I’m afraid. I have been instructed by the President to stay out of it. I do know that Novos has been planning this for awhile, so there was nothing I could do...except I knew Doctor Bashir was planning to ask Bajor for Asylum if Novos went after him again, so I decided to...prematurely press the issue…by staging the arrest so Bashir would ask for Asylum,” Ross felt the dread filling him, knowing they would judge him for this. “I’m sorry Ben, but Novos knows I’m against his plans, the President knows as well, and it was the only way I knew to help Bashir without making myself a target, any further action I take against this plan could lose me the Dominion front, and we can’t turn our backs on the Dominion because Novos is playing politics.”

“I can understand that feeling,” said Sisko, the smile finally returning to his eyes when looking at him. “What about the colony?”

“Simply put,” Nachevyev’s voice was heavy with venom. “If the President has approved of it, we have to support this ludicrous plan of his to...to...”

“To send Augments to concentration camps,” Shelby said with complete bluntness. “Have we not learned anything from our past? Isn’t there a law against this?”

“The law allows Starfleet to move citizens to safer colonies during a conflict in which civilians could potentially find themselves in danger of abduction or attack.”

“Another smokescreen,” Nacheyev said. “Novos hardly wants to protect Augments from danger.”

“I think the worst part is, Novos’ plan will fail,” Picard looked at Shelby, upon her incredulous gasp. “I mean to say, that once these Factions know what Novos is up to, they will retaliate in some way to prevent the colony from becoming a reality, and while I personally understand not all Augments have bad intentions, Doctor Bashir being a primary example of this, I say we should err on the side of caution. The Factions, if they are real, will want justice if this concentration camp comes to fruition. Starfleet, the Federation, and Novos specifically will be the target.”

“Agreed,” said Ross. “Morgan blackmailed a man, remember, and he claims to be part of at least one Faction. We can assume the worst from him at least.”

“Then we should concentrate on discovering where the Factions might be planning to meet, and Neutrality is a good place to start, since that’s the one place we know Augments live,” Shelby said, clever and quick to action, and ready for any battle. “And since they’re peaceful, they may even be willing to help us. Show that they aren’t hostile to us, and in return we show that we aren’t hostile to Augments in general.”

“If Morgan’s report was factual, then we know they _are_ going to meet, and choose a leader, Morgan a likely candidate,” Ross took a deep breath. “Once Doctor Bashir is accepted by the Bajoran council, he will be in a strategic position to maybe get information for us. A ruined career is certainly a reason for Augments who dislike the Federation to reach out to someone like him. I know he already has a good connection he can use, he just has to put two and two together himself and be discreet. Because if we meet with him, or openly support him…”

“Then these Augments, with their superhuman mental gifts, may realize our intent…” Picard breathed a deep sigh. “This is why I have always said, genetic engineering is an idea that should remain in the past where it belongs.”

“Maybe it is an old idea,” Sisko said. “But I got a damn good Doctor out of it. I hope he realizes what you intended with this arrest.”

“He will...Now to the next bit of business...Captain,” Ross turned to look at Picard. “Your ship needs an overhaul, and I have heard that Commander Brahms has been working on a new engine design upgrade for the _Sovereign_ class ships, so _Destiny_ and _Enterprise_ will soon be up for a new retrofit. How soon do you think you’ll be able to deal with that group at Celtris III?”

“Gul Madred is making good on many old promises,” Picard said, with a dark shadow in his eyes that Ross mentally stored away. “But if I have some support...this week, or next...”

“ _Sutherland_ can provide support to the _Enterprise_ if needed,” Shelby offered, always eager to provide her brand of peppy get go into any situation.

“We could take over _Sutherland_ ’s patrol of the DMZ.” Sisko offered. “But someone needs to look after the Bajoran wormhole.”

“Agreed,” Ross put up a hand. “I have already approved _Sentinel_ to take over _Defiant_ ’s protective route around Bajoran space if need be. She has to stay close anyways, Novos wants S’Vek to take command of that ship and keep an eye on the Wormhole…but I’ve been putting my heels down.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me?” Sisko looked like he would be sick.

“He’s a good officer, but he is not ready, and with two admirals giving him contrary orders its hard to make a proper assessment...” Ross sighed. “I don’t know if I can prevent him from it, but I can make him appreciate the command more by helping him get his ears wet, the Bajor patrol is no slouch route,” Ross looked at Riker pointedly. “I hope _you’re_ ready, your chair is coming fast...we need more ships than we have, and good people in command of them, I hope you realize that.”

Riker shrugged.

“I’ve talked to Deanna about this. We’ll be married when the time is right, but her place is on the _Enterprise_ …I can leave whenever Data is ready for his new chair. Which was years ago, if I am honest. I’ve held him back.”

Picard leaned forward to put a hand on Riker’s arm, and Ross felt severely guilty.

“Well it's not happening today,” Nachevyev laughed. “And I think I know exactly what Ross has planned,” she gave him a knowing look. “So I think it's time you called all your officers back to duty Captain Picard. All hands on deck. Keep me abreast of the Bajoran situation, Admiral, if Novos pushes you out of your post, I’ll make sure he isn’t the one that fills it…”

“You two are really out for Admiral Novos…” Shelby was looking at them both curiously, but she seemed to agree with them.

“We don’t know why Novos didn’t report the wristwatch and its contents the moment Morgan escaped. But I suspect, and I’m sure Nacheyev agrees, that Nakamura wasn’t the only admiral with pictures on that wristwatch. We only have the data Morgan sent to blackmail him. We don’t have the watch, which means any Admiral with a dirty history could be at risk.”

“Do we know what Morgan blackmailed Nakamura into doing with those pictures?”

Ross shook his head.

“There’s no way to know. We did a full search of his activities, his orders and logs, and I looked over everything before I came to this meeting. As far as I can see, it's all normal actions for an Admiral. But…” Ross turned to look at Nechayev. “Neither of us even considered that a simple stolen wristwatch could have such an impact. We both assumed it was a harmless nick knack.”

“A nick knack Morgan was willing to blackout an entire planet for,” Nacheyev sighed. “This is the blackhole of prejudice we fall down into. We assumed that he was just arrogant and believed himself above everyone. Now we know…”

“Now we know…”

Silence.

“Now we know,” Picard sighed. “In a way he _is_ above us…able to think seventy moves ahead, forty days ahead, and if we fall into the anti-Augment trap, thinking they all are out to get us, we’ll be tricked into starting a civil war with our own people, the Dominion will have us by the _throat_.”

“Which is exactly what Novos is doing. People, this is a dark time for the Federation. The sooner we know what the Factions are doing, the better. Lets not delay any further. You have your orders and assignments. Carry them out, with the very finest traditions of honesty and integrity the Federation has instilled in all of us. We won’t let fear control this situation. Courage will see us through. Dismissed.”

Sisko remained behind to accept his apology, and offer a random thought.

“How close to colony 53 is Klingon space? I know a few victorious Klingon birds of prey, fresh from battle, who would be happy to take a peek if I asked…”

Ross gave Benjamin Sisko a calculated look, and nodded, “Do it. Quietly. Just the two of us know.”

Sisko nodded, and left. The empty room, the viewscreen empty where Nacheyev’s face had once been, suddenly felt stiflingly small. In his time as Admiral, he had risen high and now the moment had come. It was time.

Starfleet Security couldn’t trust Novos. And they needed a trustworthy leader. The seat was open...

_Inter arma enim silent leges…_

In times of war, the law falls silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Shelby appears!  
> Reader sends out Riker!  
> The enemy Shelby used Pep Talk! Its super effective!  
> Riker used smarmy charm. It has no effect.  
> What is this...? Riker is evolving...?
> 
> xP
> 
> I wanted to bring in Shelby, and more captains in general, to star doing Starship stuff. Star Trek is supposed to be a space story after all. 
> 
> I liken Novos to Trump a lot. And I couldn't go through this covid crisis and quarantine without bringing it into the story in some way, even though I had a major virus in the Rubicun III chapter, I have something else in mind with Bajoran Flu. I hope you enjoy the OC's I've brought into Star Trek, and if any of your favorites are missing let me know. But but but, if you are missing Garak, don't worry, he's coming very very soon!


	6. The Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Minor fixes. Again, still editing this fic one chapter at a time.
> 
> I promised Garak, and here there be Garak. :3

It was midday on Vulcan, and Data found himself walking down the hallways of this now familiar place with a leaden weight between his shoulders, a feeling that was unusual, and thick with its finality. His eyes moved along the empty hallway quietly until he noted the Vulcan woman standing near a doorway, who nodded immediately upon seeing him, and then moved away. Her name was Tanar, if he was not mistaken, and she taught the younger children their mathematics before lunch. Data’s focus thus moved away from the woman, to the small alcove recessed beside the door, the ‘Place of Silence’, which was designated as the disciplinary location for children undergoing a ‘time of silence’ away from their classmates.

Sliding down next to Vinek, whose eyes were red and bloodshot, and staring away into nothing, Data wondered how many presumptive parents had been called to their schools to sit with a child like this, in a situation such as this.

“Vinek,” said Data, and he put a supportive hand on the child’s shivering shoulder. “Savil and I did not request you to be our adopted child because of your Vulcan heritage, or for your human heritage, or your ability to control the emotional responses caused by such. We chose you, because we wanted you, and felt that you needed someone who understood how you...felt.” Data shrugged, and Vinek looked up at him, that look of loss and fear in every feature of his face.

“I know, but I don’t want you to go. I was...happy...you picked me. Now I’m...angry...that you are already leaving…”

“I still want to be your father, Vinek,” he took the boy by both shoulders, turning him to look at him face to face. “Even if I have been called back to duty. Savil is staying, she is going to teach you and your fellow classmates botany. And when this conflict with the Dominion is over, we’ll all be together again. But for now, the council says you have to remain on Vulcan. And I cannot shirk my responsibilities. I made a promise to Starfleet. I have to keep that promise.”

“Promises are hard to keep,” said Vinek. “I promised I would try to stop crying all the time.”

“I do not expect you to suppress your emotions, the way a Vulcan parent might,” Data said. “I embrace human emotions, and I would be a hypocrite if I said otherwise. But our request is still in the probationary stages of adoption. I have to follow the instructions and rules of the Vulcan Family Council, and they want to be sure I can teach you in the traditional Vulcan manner. I know it's hard, but outbursts like this will not help convince anyone that we should be a family. Do you understand?”

“Okay,” Vinek nodded, and then Data did what no Vulcan parent ever did, and hugged him.

“I’ll be here until after dinner this evening, then I have to leave. But I will be contacting you and Savil constantly. I promise.”

Vinek looked hopeful, and took Data’s hand willingly to walk with him back to the dormitory. It would be a long time, Data was certain of it, a very long time, but he would be back.

He would return to Vulcan. He would keep this promise. Nothing else mattered as much as a promise made to a child.

_I just hope Starfleet understands this. A family divided in space is still united in heart._

\---------

The rolling gear airlock did nothing to reprieve Elim Garak’s torn and shattered nerves. The long shuttle from Bajor had been punctuated with the constant crying of a child, the bluster of a Vedic who was absolutely certain that Garak was a sign of the Emissary’s complete Mercy and Compassion to those Unworthy of the Prophets, and of all things, a Bajoran couple complaining about being seated near to a Cardassian. That Cardassian was also Half-Bajoran, so the point was moot really. She was more Bajoran than Cardassian in many people’s minds.

Torah Ziyal had the good nature not to complain in return despite the fact that she was surrounded by very loud rude insulting people. Garak would have applauded her diplomacy, but Jake Sisko was quick to her defense when the couple pressed the issue. Being the Emissary’s son had some benefits, and both couples were firmly split into different seats. Which put Ziyal and Jake unfortunately farther away from him, and the postulating Vedic right in the seat that Jake had abandoned, across the aisle from Garak.

Now he was standing in the airlock trying to be patient as an uppity ensign searched his belongings, overseen by Odo and a rather pleased looking Vulcan.

“May I ask what is the meaning of this assault of my personal property?” Garak demanded as the Ensign pulled out his prescription hypospray vials; one was for his painkiller, the migraine headaches he got from the station’s bright lights would put a Klingon in his grave, and the other was a sleeping aid he always needed when travelling by shuttle. Those small spaces…

“We are searching for drugs,” said the Vulcan security officer succinctly. Garak remembered his name was S’Vek. “We believe they are being smuggled from Bajor to the station and sold here.”

“Or perhaps the other way around?”

“Yes, drugs may, in fact, be being sold _to_ Bajor,” Odo said, snatching at the comment and glaring daggers towards S’Vek. “We do not know for sure which and it could very well be both!” There was some sort of unmasked hostility between the two. Garak could use this to his advantage. 

“The narcotics we found were in a post-purchased and partially used state, and were found in the cargo bay used by the shopkeepers of the station and Federation residents.”

“Which is why I’m being searched, and Jake is being searched, Ziyal is being searched, but that lovely... _lovely_ Bajoran couple isn’t?”

“Yes. We are looking for the mules bringing the drugs to the station, though an arrest means nothing without witnesses. Finding the addicts themselves would help too.”

“Do the words ‘racial profiling’ mean anything to you?” said Jake honestly as he was handed back his bag. “I mean, they mean a _lot_ to me. To my people’s history, does my dad know about this?”

“I’m very confident in my assessment that the culprit is a long term resident of this station, and not a Bajoran one. Otherwise no, I would not take action against specific races. Odo may not be so confident but...”

“You know,” Garak interrupted, after the ensign confirmed his hypospray prescriptions were legal and returned his own satchel to him. “I always thought Vulcan parents taught their children to be humble and cooperative with others. I must have been mistaken.”

“Alright Garak, you’re clear,” Odo said, rolling his eyes a little. “Move along…”

Garak passed S’Vek, noting the arched brow, and the not-smile, and nodded.

“Yes...I must have been mistaken...”

The burn was not lost on the Vulcan but Garak was back on the promenade before he could react, and...he was immediately being inoculated by Bajoran nurses, who pushed him along and told him he didn’t need to go into quarantine, Cardassians didn’t transmit this strain of flu, even if they caught it. Ziyal provided them a moment of concern, Jake was up to date on all his shots, and was unlikely to get sick as long as he avoided crowds. Soon the three of them were strolling down the promenade again as always, and Garak was starkly relieved when Jake led Ziyal into Quark’s for some juice, both of them completely ignoring the instruction about joining crowds. 

His own shop would wait. For now, he went straight to his quarters. A warm shower, with real water, helped to recuperate his senses and bring back his state of inner peace. The replicator had redleaf tea ready at his command, and he sat, in his bathrobe and smiling like a cat, in front of his computer to check his messages.

Several were from Dax. He was certain his week spent on Bajor for the Traditional Fiber Artist's Conference was not the subject of these, so he left them off for now, wanting to get through the business letters first before answering personal mail. The shopkeepers all wanted to know if he was planning to renew his rent on his space, yes, he knew he was in a coveted spot, they asked every time he went to Bajor, believing he was leaving for good. Not yet. Not until he could be certain he had enough for a downpayment on a shop space on Bajor’s capital, and he was certain he was able to precure lodgings in a community that wasn’t adverse to his Cardassian self. And only if the political situation in the Federation remained stable. Otherwise he had no plans to leave the station.

Remaining on a space station on the brink of war would have been a poor choice for Garak, if not for his sure knowledge that Sisko felt the information Garak gave him about the Cardassian side of the border was useful in fighting the Dominion.

 _I hope it is...the news from the outer colonies has not been good,_ Garak took another sip of his tea, and pulled up a message from Quark, warning that he would have a lot of repairs coming in soon due to a bar fight, and including a note to forward the bill to a third party.

Garak had an exclusive contract with Quark for the tailoring and repairs of all clothing worn by Quark or his employees while they were working at Quark’s. So a bar fight that damaged any waiter or Dabo girl’s outfit would mean profit for Garak. The question of who would be paying the bill was interesting. It would be billed to Commander S’Vek and two Starfleet officers he didn’t recognize the names of.

 _So, our smug Vulcan was in a bar fight? I need to know more,_ he typed up a quick note to Quark that he was back on the station and the store would be open the next day for business, and then opened up the letters from Dax.

Ah. This was what he was waiting for. The little Thief Bird that had stolen his Doctor was now on the station, and Dax had typed up a very long and extensive assessment of him for Garak’s benefit. And she was rarely wrong.

_He’s really young, too young if you ask me, and very flashy, like most musicians, highly focused on money and his growing career, he’ll be gone in no time, if I’m right. He’s got the talent to become a huge personality, his agent has a sharp mind, and will nudge him towards opportunities away from Bajor once he reaches his zenith here. He can’t build a music career staying in one place, not unless he plans to spend the rest of his life playing piano for Quark. He’ll stay as long as he can to snatch a Bajoran fanbase, then move on. I don’t think Julian will be able to handle that though. He can’t handle long distance relationships, never could. And he’s quite loving towards Songbird, hopeful really, it's the same song and dance he had with Leeta. They bicker a little, but not viciously, I don’t think there’s a vicious bone in Songbird’s body. He’s genuinely a fun loving outrageous and audacious personality. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Julian alone since he’s arrived so I don’t know anything more than that. I am still betting on you in the long run. Don’t let me down!_

It felt very conspiratorial, Dax betting on Doctor Bashir’s lovelife, keeping him up to date on her progress in the betting pools. If the truth be told, the two of them were involved in the betting pools more out of loyalty and protection of Julian’s reputation. A lot of wild sex betting had occurred in the past, with every rumor about Julian, each more scandalous than the last, mounting up to a rather impressive pot of latinum, to whoever could prove any of those wild theories were true, or disprove them. But one thing Garak hoped to prove was that he would have the doctor in the end. He might have lost a fight here, but the long war would be his victory.

Dax further sent him messages updating him on the entire situation on the station, the bar fight, the attempted kidnapping (S’Vek was now very much a _persona non gratas_ in Garak’s book) and finally Julian’s petition to remain on Bajor. Game. Set. MATCH! The Doctor would not be able to resist a happy life with him on Bajor, once he realized Garak was still interested in him, and just how serious he had been before things had gotten...strange...between them.

_I blame Zimmerman…damn that man! I had wanted to find out all Julian’s secrets for myself, not that way!_

A sharp pain in his temple reminded him that he needed his painkillers, and he went looking for his hypospray. He would nap, and recuperate, then send letters to Dax, to Bashir, and a friendly welcome to their newest residents, offering them the usual discount on his wares.

_And since our little Thief Bird is an employee of Quark’s, I’ll be sure to have him into the shop soon for a more...personal...assessment of his...fashion tastes. Flash fashion comes into my store like a lightning bolt, and leaves...just as quickly._

Hopefully, Songbird would be leaving...soon.

\-------

“Julian? Come have a look at this.”

The blankets were warm, and Julian couldn’t complain about their warmth. He could complain that his companion was not under the blankets with him, but was at the computer console, where he had been checking up on The Thread and the news there, and pointedly not telling him anything, as he had requested. Which was why he was startled into waking when Songbird spoke his name.

“Julian...you have to see this...your friend Garak sent me a coupon…”

Oh. Okay, he had moved onto the inter-station messages. But the name alone caused Julian to unsteadily rise from his warm envelope. A side effect of two Augments bonding was this dueling alpha instinct to follow each other no matter where they went, and to come when they called. Julian was sure if he was the one who was asking, Songbird would hail right to his side.

“What is it for?”

“ _Tailoring_ services. He’s offering me a discount... _Look_ at this message! ‘How long will you be staying? Have you found yourself quarters yet?’ Doesn’t he know we’re married?”

“He knows,” Julian chuckled, kissing the top of the singer’s head. “He wants to know how strong our relationship is...marriage has a huge plethora of meanings in Cardassian culture you know. Some men have multiple wives, the non-Cardassian wives being for ‘pleasure’ and the Cardassian ones being for children and status. Yet even though it's legal to have more than one, it's considered scandalous by the ruling elite to admit to it publicly. It’s very fascinating.”

“Julian…he wants you, and you want him still, don’t you?”

Julian sighed. Of course Songbird would want to have this conversation. This was the talk he had been dreading up until he set foot on the station. Now...now he had confidence and a well thought out response to give.

“I do,” Julian turned the chair so that Songbird would have to face him. “I still want him as _a friend_. I was not happy to be so thrown out in the cold when my augmentation became known. He may regret that now, but I don’t want a relationship with someone I can’t trust and he’s been very difficult for me to trust in any way. I’m already learning to trust you. And I want to give you the chance you have given me. A chance for something...more than infatuation.”

Songbird’s face was worried and unconvinced.

“According to Dax, the betting pool on your relationship with Garak is huge…” Songbird was whining, really, but he had the right to whine. And money was something Songbird was weak about.

“The betting pool is the bane of my love life!” Julian admitted, genuinely frustrated. “I have had no less than three people who were only ‘interested’ in talking to me scared off by the members of that pool, all of them trying to shift the odds in their favor. And as long as Dax is a part of that pool, pushing things in Garak’s favor, I won’t have anything to do with Garak, romantically or otherwise. I don’t like people manipulating my love life, especially my friends.”

“Well,” Songbird seemed to think for a moment. “If you can’t beat them, join them. I’ll make a bet for us.”

“What?” Julian looked at him in amusement. “What bet would you make?”

“As your husband, I bet against the entire pool, that our marriage will last at _least_ until the Peldor festival!”

“Peldor?” Bashir choked. “Not longer?”

“Hey, you and I both know this was a spontaneous marriage,” Songbird kissed his nose...his lips. “We have as much of a chance of breaking up as we do staying together, we both have a lot to learn about each other still. I like to hedge my bets. If we last longer than that, then it _must_ be love.”

Songbird’s blunt honesty about their relationship was such a refreshing change, having a partner who told the truth, who was honest about his worries and concerns, who aired out his dirty laundry when confronted with it, without even trying to lie about it, and was quick to apologize. It was such a wonderful wholesome feeling.

“Peldor is the festival of gratitude,” Julian said, pulling Songbird into his arms. “A time to say thank you for the wonderful things that have come into your life. I am extremely grateful to have found you, and I think we have a lot of staying power, regardless of the speedy way we came together.”

“I thought Peldor was the festival in which Bajorans wrote their worries down on a piece of paper and burned them so that the Prophets would bring them happiness…?”

“That too…It is a lot of fun. I almost can’t wait to prove everyone wrong.”

“So, you want me to make that bet?”

Julian thought it through for a moment. Their quarantine was technically not needed anymore, this flu didn’t last more than eight to ten days and Songbird was an augment, he wasn’t sick anymore. And some people could be sick longer than others. All he needed to do was call the infirmary...

“I tell you what, we get cleared from quarantine by Girani, and I’ll go with you to Quark’s when you make that bet. I’ll even request a song, I haven’t had a chance to hear you play since we came here.”

“That’s because my piano is at Quark’s. All I can do in our quarters is write. You wouldn’t be opposed to me bringing my concert piano here would you? It's really an expensive instrument, a vintage piece. It really is a bit of a luxury item, I rarely play it except at very private venues. Shavi was in the cargo because...she was worried about the ivory keys being stolen,” Songbird was suddenly stricken, and Julian held him closely.

“She’ll recover. Girani is first rate. She will get everyone through this alive, Shavi included.”

“I just...wish she had told me…” Songbird wiped his eyes. “About the Rot I mean. She’s like...she’s like my soul mother, she was there for me more than my parents ever were. I would be there for her in an instant if she needed it.”

Julian nodded, and brushed the hair away from Songbird’s worried teal eyes.

“Selelvians are often cagey about the Rot. I don’t blame them. The Federation banned genetic engineering of children, which could prevent the disease, and all research was halted since ties broke down between us. It was never considered serious enough to break the genetic engineering rules, even with the high rate of mortality. I wouldn’t be surprised if Selelvia broke the peace with the Federation over this one day. But right now...well…” Julian frowned. “Well, hmmm. I wonder if Bajor has rules about this. I’m sure I could start my own research once I am back to work. If I’m ever back to work!”

“You will be! And I would love you forever if you did find a cure! Just...don’t tell Shavi. I really don’t want to get her hopes up, she told me this disease had zero cure and no chance of finding one. I hope she’s wrong though. What would I do without her?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Modern treatments show that she can live a very long healthy life.”

“Let me guess,” Julian hadn’t realized Songbird was leading him back to the bed until they were falling into it. “A quiet cottage on a sunny tropical colony? She would hate that.”

“Her loss,” Julian said, moaning slightly into the mouth that kissed him. “I’d love a tropical vacation right about...mmm…”

Further conversation would have to wait.

\-------------

Captain Samuel Morgan’s eyes moved in a slow spiral, in deep examination of the glyph of concentric code he was being presented with. It was a beautiful thing, Spiral, a form of software code first designed by Augments in the 22nd century and it had changed very little in its base code since, only very little could be improved. He had examined many programming languages during his lifetime, and aside from the Cardassian State approved programming language, and the Binar people’s pure system of binary, he had not met any computer programming code as secure and still quite as elegant as this. His approval of Cardassian code was his one note of acknowledgement of any other race. Bynar had cybernetic implants that helped them process code and information as fast as they did, so they were not unaltered, to his way of thinking. Cardassians, quite simply, were no different genetically than many other reptilians, and yet their code was nearly unhackable, as history had proven again and again.

Spiral was indestructible, and it was very difficult to program for if you weren’t expert in all coding and hacking techniques, or of advanced intelligence, like a Vulcan. He also liked Spiral because, well, it was made by humans. He readily admitted his own prejudices, just as readily as he admitted that he loved being proven wrong. There was nothing more that he, as an Augment, loved more than being made to feel human now and again, even if he was sometimes too arrogant to admit it. Being right all the time was dull. He’d met the kind of augment who enjoyed always being right, and they reminded him too severely of Ferengi salesmen trying to rob you whilst insisting they were giving you a bargain. He couldn’t live that way.

A few taps on the keypad and the spiral sped up, the mistakes in the coding having been rectified. Morgan smiled, letting his eyes linger on the spinning glyph for a moment, before submitting the finished code and closing the program. A few minutes later the computer beeped out its confirmation that the code had been completed and loaded into the device in front of him on the console.

It was beautiful, this watch. It's simple modern design was elegant, the white tritanium metal band and housing that mimicked silver, the clear transparent aluminum face like glass. The materials he chose were not just purely aesthetic, he wanted these watches to be as indestructible as such a small thing could be. Where it really popped was the rainbow of faceted jewels that took the place of the hour numbers, and only close inspection would reveal that there was a secondary purpose to those gems, tiny lights under each gem, which were cut in such a way to reflect that light around the dome of the watch face, or just to light the gemstone itself. Each beautiful gem was currently dark, but Morgan had a better purpose for lighting these gems than simple beauty. The Spiral code he had created was a little bit overkill for such a small device, but he preferred everything to be as airtight in its security as he could make it, even this.

It was simple, and yet so vital. There were two other watches beside him on the console, and he tapped the console in order to confirm the number of watches which had received the new code. Three was the response. He was pleased. Hand constructing these watches was difficult enough, but they had to be able to update remotely, he was pressed for time. Three of the watches, without code, were already on their way to their new owners, he would send the code needed to function them later that day. But first he needed to test the code to be sure it would all work. Or these watches would just be blinking pretty things.

For a moment, he could see his reflection in the facets of the watch crystals, his eyes, sunken in their sockets, the rough shaved jaw, the fine lines of still unhealed scars, the work of years of struggle and pain that had brought him to this point.

_The fire in my blood...caught within these gems...How they sparkle…!_

How maudlin. He shook his head, and pushed down with one finger on the dome face of the watch in front of him, and the whole face lit up red for a moment, then he pressed it again and returned it to normal. However, having received that button press, the twinkling red gemstone at the 4 hour mark lit up and stayed lit, and the same gemstone lit up on the other two watches. He picked one of the others up, considered it, then pressed it twice in the same way. The 9 hour aquamarine lit up after the second press, but the face did not light at the first, and he sighed. Something didn’t get updated in the code in this watch. He would have to go back and find it.

Even he made mistakes. For a moment, he could feel the frustration as well as the amusement at his own mortality. He double tapped the red watch again and the red gems on all three watches darkened. It was thus he noticed that, despite the face not lighting up, the aquamarine on the 9 hour mark on the other two watches lit up. He paused, then picked up the last watch and pressed the face as he had the other two.

The amber face lit up fully and the matching gemstones did too. His code was not at fault, it was the device, a fault in the cut of the gemstone perhaps. It was a simple fix, and he sighed in relief.

Yes, he did like to make mistakes from time to time. But not on something so important as this. And he had six more to make. All by hand.

He put aside the watches for a moment, then stood and went back over to his workbench, where the components for the other six were undergoing various stages of construction. Two tiny motherboards, freshly printed, were still sitting in their isopropyl baths. His workbench was littered with trays of gemstones, of many cuts, sorting through them to find the right facet had been the most fun. A replicated gemstone was functional, but there was beauty in the organic way he was creating these watches. They were a gift to those he was sending them to, a way of saying thank you. And the fiddly work of fitting the gems was helping him recover the steadiness in his hands.

An echo of a computer blip alerted him back to the present moment. Here on their small cloaked vessel, the universe of stars beyond the viewports seemed lightyears away. The cargo bay was gritty, metal, and cramped, the missing shuttlecraft doing nothing to relieve the enclosed feeling.

He had bigger dreams than a single pilot cargo freighter. He had very big dreams. With one last look at the workbench, and the watches still waiting for their gems, he turned and stalked back to the pilot bay. Dreams were always wonderful, but the patience that came with waiting for their fulfillment made them all that much more precious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rather love the idea of this highly advanced human being, coding this complicated program, than putting together by hand the piece of jewelry that carries it. I've recently become interested in electronics, soldering and modding video game systems and there's an aesthetic to making things by hand you don't get just by tapping a button and buying something pre-made online. I have always been a creator, a crocheter and painter and writer, and I really liked describing this scene with the watches.
> 
> The scene with Vinek was directly inspired by the Star Trek reboot movie, of Sarek coming to talk to Spock at school after the fight with the bullies. I wonder if all children have to sit and wait for their parents like Spock did when they misbehave.


	7. Hollow Spaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Minor edits. :3

Darkness filled their quarters, the silent anticipation of a night out on the town as they went through the motions of getting prepared, a ritual that was going to become routine over time, Julian was certain of this. He took a sonic shower whilst Songbird went through his entire wardrobe to find him an outfit. As he was shaving he was surprised by his lover coming in and putting one arm around his stomach from behind. The motion was so casual, so natural that there was no doubt in his mind, Songbird was worth fighting for.

“If you keep doing this, we’ll be late, you know.”

Songbird grinned, then held up what he had been hiding behind his back in his other hand; one of Julian’s jackets from a holodeck adventure, a brown wool lined leather coat, a military jacket, something he had worn for a spy program once, a casual beautiful thing really...

“You do have nice clothes!” Songbird accused him, grinning. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“No matter how hard you try you just are not going to be able to bring back 20th century fashion.”

“Maybe not, but this will look good on you. That tennis outfit of yours...horrendous…!”

“Horrendous!” Songbird ducked out the bathroom, but not before Julian could land a smack on his impertinent backside. “I won four trophies in that outfit thank you very much!”

Songbird’s laugh from outside in their bedroom was his only reward. Julian rolled his eyes, and finished shaving. The cologne may have been much, but Songbird had said he’d wanted Julian to dress up a little as he was dressing down. Wearing civilian clothing outside of their quarters, for the first time since he’d requested asylum, was a bit of a coming of age really. Could he keep his dignity intact without the uniform? Was he a doctor without it? He knew the answers, and he had been here before in other situations, but the uncertainty came from the ideology he had been raised under. Joining Starfleet had meant everything to the young Julian. The much older Julian was just happy to still be on DS9.

When he came out of the bathroom he discovered that Songbird had nearly the entire closet spread out on their bed.

“I hope you’re going to put _all_ those away,” Julian complained, as Songbird started hanging his clothes back up in a new order, some of them being pushed with dismay towards the farthest back of the closet, and others kept to the front, and finally he had an outfit in his hands that was Songbird approved.

He sighed. Tweed slacks and a button down shirt he’d worn for a war time pilot program with Miles. The outfit was made up entirely of holodeck costume pieces, but from different eras. He picked up the items and looked at Songbird firmly in accusation. 

“Hey, your wardrobe isn’t exactly loose leaf silver needle served in wedgewood china, I’m working with bagged fannings and dust here,” he held up the silver tennis outfit pointedly with two fingers, barely touching it, and holding it away from himself bodily as if it was a dead vole.

“Somebody’s fanny will be in the fire if he doesn’t start cleaning up this mess!”

But Julian was smiling as he dressed up in the outfit. Secretly he was in love with Songbird’s desire to make him look good. He couldn’t wear his uniform, and he wouldn’t wear Starfleet standard issue civilian clothes, they were just dull and universally undefinable in color; ‘puke’ was the closest word he could use to describe how Starfleet felt its officers should look off duty. The resemblance was uncanny.

A quick inspection in the mirror, and he had to admit, he did look good. Songbird had finished cleaning, then had to change himself, and spent a bit of time looking through his own considerable wardrobe before deciding what to wear.

“If you’re late, Quark will punish _me_ ,” Julian finally said, and Songbird started laughing, finally coming up with a plain dark gray skin tight bodysuit with a colorful short waistcoat.

He was dressed in a style similar to the Ferengi waiters, preferring to blend in with the crowd and the scenery if he wasn’t the star of whatever venue he was in. Julian had only seen recordings of his concert on Trill, and quite frankly, it had been a loud audacious spectacle even for a private venue. And only Songbird’s amazing voice had saved it. Trill didn’t tend to like the flashy and the fabulous, but they appreciated a good voice, and Songbird had that in spades. He was looking forward to the concert Songbird was planning for this weekend, to raise money for Bajor. Songbird’s contract allowed him to have concerts and donate part of the proceeds to a good local cause, as long as Quark was the primary advertiser. So Shavi had wasted no time after they signed the contract in booking the entire Promenade for this weekend. He would have to play as many concert venues as possible to get his name out there. For now, he would entertain at Quarks.

The couple left their quarters together, like couples did, and they entered Quark's together pointedly, like couples did. It was the dinner hour, when people were not yet done with eating, and casual music was wanted.

During dinner Quark didn’t want people to get bored, because when people were full on food, they would be looking to gamble, and music would keep them from leaving before the serious gambling started and the real alcohol was finally permitted by Bajoran law. Marked by what Quark now called the Social hour. Before then it was synthehol only. These rules kept the Bajoran faithful happy, Federation security happy, and Quark in business. Songbird would play some sets of requested tracks during this period, and after the Social hour ended, there would now be an hour set aside for dancing, and Songbird had designated this period the ‘Floor Show’, which Quark had put on the new schedule.

Julian found himself putting an arm around Songbird pointedly as they entered the bar, and Chief O’Brien greeted him first, having taken a seat by the door.

“Hey, looking good Julian. Got plans for the holodeck tonight?”

Julian gave Songbird a _look_ , and Songbird pointedly dragged him to the bar where Quark was before he could say a word.

“Hey, you’re early,” Quark said. “Gonna play for free or just annoy people until then?”

“Annoy people,” Julian said immediately, and Songbird huffed.

“Julian, are we going to make this bet?”

“ _You_ are going to make this bet,” Julian said. “Remember, I have that tongo game tonight, and that is my contribution to our little rebellion…”

“You’re going to looooose,” Quark said with a greedy grin. “I got Dax to change her plans to join us.”

Damn. Dax was good. Julian mentally cursed, he should have seen that coming, but he didn’t change his expression one hair, putting on a poker face. His poker face was nothing more than a cheeky boyish smile, but he did it anyways, hoping the Ferengi bartender didn’t realize how phased he really was. Songbird didn’t look at _all_ phased as he got the bar’s attention. Julian could barely contain his grin as the musician climbed up onto the bartop to get a bit of height.

“Attention everyone!” he turned to look down at Quark. “It has been made aware to me that there is a rather healthy betting pool in regards to my dear husband…”

A titter of nervous laughter, and Julian just sat down at a stool and O’Brien shifted over to sit next to him, confused. Julian gave him a wink.

“Quite a big pot, I hear,” Songbird continued, looking over to where Dax and Worf were sharing an evening meal, their eyes blazing with curiosity and amusement.

Off to the side, Julian noted Garak was sitting with Ziyal and Jake, and for a moment, he met the tailor’s eyes. He had no way of warning the man about what was to come, other than to shake his head a little sadly, Garak’s wide eyed puzzlement was quite keen.

Quite keen. He was eager to play the usual spy games around their lunch table again, as the numerous messages he had been sending since returning to the station indicated. Maybe Julian would start having lunch with him again. Maybe he could forgive the previous slight. But some parameters needed to be set first. And Songbird was about to set them.

“Therefore I would like to make a bet of my own. I bet one hundred slips of latinum,” a rather large bet,“that I will still be happily married to _my_ husband, Julian Bashir, by the Peldor festival.”

That was about a month away, but was still the longest period of time anybody had bet any of Julian’s relationships would last. Not since Leeta anyway. Many people’s mouths dropped open, including, to Julian’s utter delight, Dax’s, who knew how much he had been hating all the bets. Amongst the open mouthed people were Quark, who was startled at this sudden shift in the odds of his precious betting pool, and of course Garak…

Garak looked like he was ready to do murder to poor Songbird. Julian looked back towards the bar so as to not catch the Cardassian tailor’s notice.

It hurt, it really did. The man clearly did want him. But it was too late for that, now, wasn’t it? Now Songbird would have to fjord that storm and survive, or they were already doomed as a pair. Anybody who couldn’t handle Garak, and Dax too, to be fair, never really had a prayer, if he was honest with himself. But he was tired of his love life being manipulated, and those two had to be brought in line if they wanted to stay his friends. They were supposed to care about him, so let them play with Songbird for a while. Let them see what the betting pool was doing to him. And they didn’t know what an extraordinary mind the young musician really had. Maybe he could handle them. Maybe.

He turned to look at Miles, and the approving smile was a relief. So far Chief O’Brien had mostly been uncomfortable about Songbird. But he was one of the few people who hadn’t bet on Julian’s love life and for that he was severely grateful.

Songbird finally got off the bar and went over to gossip with Dax and Worf. Dax asked him where he was going to be getting the money to pay his bet, which caused Julian to wince. 

Songbird retorted, “I’ll borrow it from Julian after he wins the tongo game tonight,” and Julian felt his heart leap up to the rafters.

“I like him,” said Miles, as he raised a toast with his mug of ale. The only thing he needed was a mug of his own and he put in an order immediately with the frenzied Quark. “So how about a game of darts?”

Julian found himself grinning in spite of himself. There had been a leaden weight in his stomach, not helped by the sudden disappearance of Garak from the bar, and the number of people coming over to the bar to shift their bets with Quark, coupled with the civilian clothes, well...It was damning how quickly he could start to feel self-conscious. But Chief O’Brien was offering him an out.

“That sounds fantastic!” Julian grasped at the offered means of escape and left the bar with his beer and his friend, glad that nobody, nobody had asked him about his position on the betting pool.

He wasn’t sure he would be able to answer without the translator’s built in profanity blocking algorithms kicking in.

Anyway, some things were better left unsaid.

\--------

Captain Benjamin Sisko found his feet following their familiar steps along the Promenade with a sense of sadness as he surveyed the mostly quiet station. The unlit advertisement signs, the darkness in corners where there once was light. Most shops were closed, only essential services like the infirmary and the replimat were still active. Garak had opened his shop for one day and then closed it again. The lack of foot traffic would kill off many businesses during this lockdown, but Garak would survive, Sisko was sure of it.

_As soon as the quarantine is lifted, I’m going straight to Garak’s to get a new suit. Maybe he’ll have some interesting news to share..._

But it wasn’t the quarantine that bothered Sisko the most; it was the drugs. Drugs on _his_ station! He looked up to the second level, and he could see Odo’s Security guards discreetly positioned on the catwalks, all of them remaining at a casual distance, but ready to move at a moment’s notice. It overwhelmingly reminded him of how Cardassian overseers would stand up on those gangplanks during the occupation, constantly watching over their Bajoran workers. He shivered a little at the mental image, then put that image firmly back into perspective by reminding himself of what was really going on.

 _Odo and his men are ready to move once they get a tip as to where a drug deal is going down._ Sisko was not going to be the bubble that burst their party by acting as if a deathly empty promenade wasn’t normal during a Bajoran flu quarantine.

But it wasn’t. This flu season was ramping up to be one of the worst Sisko had ever seen since he had taken command of the station. Bashir had even begged Sisko to let him go to Bajor to help distribute the vaccine. Sisko had hated having to deny the request; Julian was still an asylum seeker. He could not practice medicine under Starfleet and was not yet a Bajoran medical officer. It hurt him, but other doctors would have to oversee this crisis instead.

_But now he’s Bajor’s haj a kai. They will probably let him practice medicine right away when his asylum request is approved. I really hadn’t known how much Bajorans had respected him until then…If Kai Wynn had an alternative motive, she would have revealed it by now, wouldn’t she?_

He wasn’t sure. But there was still a lot he didn’t know about his doctor, either, and this in itself bothered him. Here was a man of strange contrasts: naive, falling in love at the drop of a hat, getting knee deep into Cardassian spy games, and then becoming a religious icon of two different peoples, especially if the _‘kaj a kai’_ thing Els Renora was pushing ever took off. But at the same time, he was an Augment, with advanced physiology, able to cut down swaths of enemies on the battlefield, but brought down by a single bash to the head by a couple of security guards. Invulnerable to a fatal virus that had nearly killed the entire population of a planet, but still susceptible to Bajoran flu...

And he was a good man. As forthright and honest as any man could be. Bashir was literally the most moral person on this station, if he was truly honest with himself, maybe second to Chief O’Brien, it was hard to choose.

Julian Bashir and Miles O’Brien, they were like the salt and pepper of nice people. Though good by themselves, in many good dishes you used a little of both, and that made the meal all that more memorable.

_The Chief should be out of quarantine by now..._

Tonight Sisko was hoping to catch what O’Brien had told him was going to be an epic confrontation in Quark’s. Bashir was going to be playing tongo one on one with Quark, in a bid to end all betting pools around his love life entirely, if he won. There was too much latinum at stake for Quark to take that lying down, he knew. The game would be held after Songbird’s floor show ended and the bar closed. The command staff were technically welcome to stay after hours, so Sisko decided that he would sneak up to the second level early to watch discreetly from the sidelines.

_Now that Julian has no reason to hide, he can do things a more naive doctor wouldn’t be wise to participate in. Like, marrying a spy...?_

Sisko knew about Songbird’s under the table dealings for Ross. He knew Ross had been planning to bring the young man to Bajor, long before he had met Julian. But he wondered if there was something more to him...some _extra_ talents Ross had only hinted at...

_Songbird is a talented musician with an amazing music career ahead of him. Julian is going to have trouble convincing everyone that this isn’t a flash-in-the-pan marriage. Then again, once he’s famous, maybe Songbird won’t care...maybe he’ll stop being a spy for Ross..._

Songbird was the canary in the coal mine. The harbinger of trouble to come. If anything serious was going down anywhere, Ross would learn about it. Such a vital piece on the chess board could not be mismanaged. Ross needed eyes here on Bajor, watching Cardassia, and S’Vek was too obvious. It was clear why Ross wanted his son here, and why the young man had married Julian. A strategic political move. He would have felt sorry for the Doctor, but Julian wasn’t as young and naive as he had once been. He was well aware of what was going on, and was going along too.

So Captain Sisko entered Quark’s with some idea of how he was going to bet on the tongo game, and was surprised to see how much the place was popping. Songbird’s infectious energy was bringing people in, mostly from the second level where there were other restaurants, customers trickling out after their meals and being drawn here to the music of the bar, staying for the company, drinking and gambling, just like Sisko knew Quark liked. Songbird was a good investment for Quark, at the very least.

Sisko ordered a drink and then took it up to the second level to his usual spot, noting how Dax was sitting with Worf on the lower level near the piano, where people were dancing to a rousing pop rendition of a traditional Bajoran _temple_ song. To his surprise, the Bajoran patrons were loving it, dancing and smiling wildly at the strange new variation on a beloved ballad. He spotted Jake and Ziyal dancing together near the piano. The young couple had been turning heads for weeks before their trip to Bajor together, their insistence on travelling with Garak as a chaperone was merely a token gesture. Here were two people in serious love and Sisko couldn’t be prouder that Jake had taken the plunge to admit his feelings to the lovelorn girl. She had been looking for love in all the wrong places, to his way of thinking, with only adult Cardassian men as her company for years in the prison camp she had thus latched onto the only male Cardassian on the station. She had made the right decision in finally choosing Jake, someone her age. He just wasn’t sure he was thrilled by the possibility of having Gul Dukat as an in-law one day. He knew the feeling was probably mutual.

Looking down at the bar, Sisko could also see Bashir, standing with Chief O’Brian off to the far side of the bar, the tell tale signs of a darts game in the offing; Bashir was several feet behind the Chief, and Morn was goading him with a waving handkerchief. Bashir had been threatened with a blindfold so many times it was becoming a thing with the people who bet on the Chief to try and distract the doctor with one, goading him into trying said item in hopes he would take the dare and fail. Even an Augment couldn’t throw darts blind...right?

A shift in the music to a lounge piece changed the mood of the bar immediately from dancing and laughing to chatting and gossip. Sisko watched as Ziyal and Jake went back to sit at a free table, the young Bajoran-Cardassian looking flushed, a little winded, and Jake laughing, sweating and clearly full of delight from the amazing dance. It had been a catchy little number.

“May I join you Captain?”

Sisko looked startled when Major Kira came over, looking reluctant, the drink in her hand was one that he knew was synthehol, not real spirits. She would be going back on duty soon.

“Of course Major. What’s your poison tonight?”

She hated when he asked that, he knew, even if it was a regular human expression, but many resistance fighters had been poisoned by substances in their drinking water. Sisko reminded himself to maybe not use that saying again with her. It was not lost on him that she seemed even stiffer now that he had said it.

“Just a synthale. You?”

“Jack Daniels,” one of his favorites, he rarely took real alcohol. “I hear there’s going to be quite the tongo game tonight.”

“Maybe,” Kira was sitting stiffly. “Odo hasn’t said anything about Quark’s being included in their sting, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t said anything in order to make sure there would be plenty of people here to search.”

"A toast to Odo then," he raised his glass. "And hopefully to his success."

They clinked glasses and he patiently waited for her to start the conversation, knowing she had an important subject to broach.

“Captain,” she took a deep breath and put her hands together. “I’m the First Officer on this station right?”

“That’s right,” Sisko was pretty sure he knew where this was going, and he wanted her to be able to ask him anything, even this.

“So...why the secret meeting? And why wasn’t I told what you discussed?”

“I guess telling you it was an internal Federation matter won’t fly with you?”

“Not if Bajor is going to become a Federation world…”

That ‘if’ was still hanging over them, ever since he had convinced the Bajoran council not to join yet. Bajorans were now reluctant to say they were going to join, but were clearly not comfortable saying they weren’t. It had been a long time, but Sisko still felt that the decision had been the right one. Bajor needed flexibility in the midst of this Dominion business.

“I was ordered not to tell any of my staff about the meeting. The contents might have been...inflammatory. Especially to Bajorans.”

“How, inflammatory?”

Sisko looked around, to be sure there wasn't anyone nearby, knowing the Ferengi waiters would hear this, but not do anything with the information they gleaned unless Quark told them to. The two of them were sitting in an area of the second level that hopefully nobody below them could overhear what was said. Ross wanted the rumor to start one way or another, but if it was traced back to Sisko and Ross, it was going to end very badly. He finally felt he was safe talking to her, and leaned forward.

“Designated colonies, for Augments, and how we are going to prevent Admiral Novos from making them a reality."

“Designated...wait…” Kira’s eyes widened, unable to finish the sentence as she put two and two together. "Unbelievable...I..." She was speechless.

"By pushing him into seeking Asylum, Admiral Ross may have just _saved_ Bashir from a worse fate than a case of the Bajoran flu.”

There was a sudden, collective wince as Songbird dropped a sudden sour note in his song, picking it up again with a “Sorry folks! I’ll have to see about getting that key fixed…”

_Interesting...could he have heard me…? I know Quark and his waiters did. Or was it…?_

Sisko sat back in his chair to look back over the edge of the railing, and the cheers of Bashir missing a target at the dart board told him everything. Bashir was watching Songbird now, or the place he had been, the singer had left his piano for a break and the piano was on an automatic playlist of pre-recorded content. One, more than likely two, properly distracted Augments, if Sisko’s instincts were correct. Meanwhile, Kira was waiting for him to voice his thoughts, and he had to make sure he didn’t lose her support.

“The one thing Bajor wouldn’t budge on when applying for membership was the existence of race based segregation, right? And we had to help re-home the Bajorans in refugee camps before Bajor would let us set foot here…But we sent them to existing Bajoran colonies in Federation space rather than trying to find new places for them in mixed colonies, which resulted in segregation anyways. It was a failing in our otherwise good relationship, very early on.”

Kira’s eyes widened, and then she found herself as the implied question started the gears churning in her head.

“Yes, at the time we couldn’t handle the numbers of refugees so we wanted them to stay in the Federation. But...in truth most Bajorans weren’t comfortable yet, living with other races. We were worried by the fact that Bajorans in Starfleet were still changing their names, and not being able to wear earrings on duty. We weren’t sure the Federation was as welcoming as we had hoped, not as committed to living as Federation citizens. So yeah, I think that would still be a serious sticking point.”

“So…The Emissary tells the Bajoran government to wait to join the Federation,” Sisko said, pointedly referring to himself in the third person to put the conversation in a third party’s perspective. “Novos starts making camps for Augments, under the legal bubble of trying to ‘protect them’ from becoming a target of anti-augment violence. The Bajoran council finds out about it, calls it what it is, segregation. Suddenly...the Federation isn’t welcome by Bajorans, and the Emissary has given them reason to end their application to join. A panic reaction to something that doesn’t exist yet and if Ross has his way, never will. Do you understand now why I was told not to discuss this with my staff yet?”

Kira nodded, though she was a lot more clever than many people gave her credit for. This very public, if rather private, conversation would become a rumor. He wanted the rumor out, and she knew he did. She had given him the opportunity to put it out there and he had taken it.

“So what are we doing about it?”

“Besides making sure Julian gets asylum? Mostly playing dumb whilst Ross works on convincing President Jaresh-Inyo to change his mind about re-homing Augments. And to make sure we make friendlier connections with Augments than we’ve had before this. Bring them back into the fold so to speak.”

“Without encouraging more genetic engineering…?” she put the hammer right to the nail.

“How do you make peace with them whilst simultaneously banning their creation?” Sisko stated outright.

"You don't," Kira was blunt. She had been a resistance fighter. She was a commander and a leader of people, fiery and quick on the uptake, and anybody who underestimated her intelligence was in for a major shock. "The Cardassians came to Bajor as friends,” Kira leaned in towards Sisko, looking pale and rather like she was disappointed with him in some way. “Then we were told that for our own safety, we would have to stay in Bajoran space, and follow strict travel guidelines, live in designated areas, then before you knew it…we were a lesser species, who had to obey a superior race. Then, our lives became expendable. You can't have an expendable race. Isn't that what the eugenics wars were about? A race of super men being created to fight wars so humans wouldn't have to die?"

"It was," he took a deep breath. "The victors always blame the loser. We enslaved them first."

"What goes around comes around," she turned her glass around in her fingertips, and looked back over the edge of the railing. "Which is why I've never fought at having Garak and Quark stay on the station, as much as I hate to admit it. They are a part of this place. Deep Space Nine thrives now because those men stayed. DS9? Without Quark's? Heresy, and everyone knows it. Starfleet, without Doctor Bashir? Tell me he hasn't done as much for Starfleet Medical as he has done for Bajoran Medical."

"I can't..." Sisko took a deep breath. "People like Julian have contributed much to the Federation..."

"'People like Julian', don't' you see?" Kira's voice changed, again that underlying disappointment that he hadn't understood. "Julian and the Augments, they are not 'them', they are _you_ ," Kira pushed the glass away. "You once told me that people of your skin color were once enslaved on your world. Well, this is the _same thing_. They are the same race, just a different kind of human, like you, like Keiko. Just different kinds of the same people."

It hit Sisko like a punch to the gut. She was right in every way, and it hurt that he hadn't seen it. It hurt in a very personal way, and he put his face in his hands.

"I didn't say that to upset you, I'm sorry."

"No, you're right. It's just, if it took this much to move me, trying to convince everyone else...” Sisko looked over the rail again. Songbird had recovered himself and returned to his piano, and Bashir was now sitting at the bar with O’Brien, laughing over the man’s dart win. “I fully intend to prevent history from repeating itself, for Bajorans, and for Humanity.”

“I’ll...talk to Shakaar in the morning so he can approve Julian quickly, without the big fuss Starfleet is worried about. But make sure you remind Starfleet about our no segregation policy,” Kira said. "We can be very stubborn about things like this."

Sisko grinned at her, but before he could crack a tension easing joke, there was a sudden commotion at the bar. Odo, S’Vek, and the drug investigation team had begun entering Quark’s en masse from all three levels. The sting was, indeed, happening at Quarks.

“I think there won’t be a tongo game,” Sisko sighed. He had been looking forward to it, really.

“That’s fine. I think I’m a little too tired of tongo after hours. Seeing if Songbird and Julian will last until Peldor, that’ll be interesting.”

“Until Peldor…?” Sisko gave her the lead to answer the unspoken question as they walked slowly to the exit, with Odo and his people locking down the bar and searching the customers for drugs as they left.

“Songbird bet against the entire pool that he would still be married to Bashir by the Peldor festival. I’ve never seen Garak look so...not like a tailor.”

“I see. Any bets on how long Songbird is going to live after making that bet?” Sisko rarely made a bet himself, not publically here at Quarks, he knew that his bets had the power to change Bajoran minds, whether he liked it or not.

“We’ll have to see,” Kira shrugged, and let Sisko go ahead of her in order for the security officers to search him. “I just hope if Garak does anything, it’ll be after Songbird’s concert this weekend. He mostly only plays requests here at Quark’s, changing up the songs he's requested like he did my request for the temple song. I want to hear him play his _own_ music. Julian said he’s been composing since he arrived.”

_So Kira requested that song..._

Sisko made a mental note to get himself a front row seat to this concert. Kira was very traditional in her music tastes, so if she wanted to attend, then she must have approved of the way Songbird had altered the music piece. That bode well for his career on Bajor.

The two of them walked quietly back to OPS, with Dax and Worf waiting for them near the turbolift. There would be a lot more work to do, but if Sisko knew Odo, the drug thing would be nothing more than a bad dream by nightfall the next day, and Songbird would have the entire Promenade to show off his talents with.

\-----------

Morning was dawning across the space station as Songbird’s feet left the turbolift, his head still groggy from a late night of playing piano at Quark’s, the last couple days of unceasing quarantine filling his chest with increasing worry over Shavi’s condition and the people of the station. Having to delay, and reschedule his concert, and the silence as to Julian’s asylum request, was all hanging over his head like dark clouds, yet he pulled himself upright, shoulders back and metaphoric teeth bared as he arrived at the replimat. He found Ziyal, Jake, and Garak already having breakfast there.

Throwing caution to the wind, he put his PADD on the table they were sitting around, indicating without speaking that he wanted to sit with them, to the utter delight of the two teenagers. The elder Cardassian gave him a sour smile, the executioner and his next victim so to speak.

Songbird ignored him. Not because he was foolhardy, but because he knew that Garak had been up all night reprogramming the replicators to replace anything that Songbird ordered with something nasty, and Songbird had waited until the man had gone to bed before reprogramming them all back to normal. He’d barely slept, but it had been worth it. A cup of Raktajino was the first order of business in his day, and he wasn’t going to play spy games with his food. It was quickly becoming a staple, being the favorite drink of the station personnel. Strong and glorious, like the Klingon race he had once again become inspired to start composing about, and with enough caffeine to bring him heavily back to somewhat of a waking state of mind as he sat with Ziyal and Jake.

“So, last night you two said you’d be willing to help me with setting up the stage for the concert,” Songbird saw the smiles on their innocent youthful faces, and ignored the tailor, for the time being. “I hear you are quite the artist, Ziyal. Since it's an open stage up there, you two have a lot of space to work with. Can you design something Bajoran for the posters, but also rather, well, Federation friendly, as well? The theme of my concert is Unity.”

They chatted business, and he could tell the moment Garak had decided his replicator plot hadn’t worked, for he got up to go get another redleaf tea, and possibly to test that his code was present. Ziyal made an ‘oh’ sound, distracted from the small talk by Garak’s sudden curse in _Kardassi_.

“And you, sir,” said Songbird directly to Garak as he turned, who stopped like a deer in headlights at the ‘sir’. “Maybe you could make my costume match what Ziyal designs somehow? Shavi tells me I’m always too flashy, so I’ll let her be the final judge...”

_When she’s well again, anyway...._

“Yes, yes, of course…” Garak mumbled, looking genuinely frustrated. “However, it may take some time...”

“We have a couple weeks, I’ve rescheduled the concert for when the station opens again. At least when it's _currently_ scheduled to open, with any luck.”

All his worries melted into a moment of gleeful vengeance as he had a front row seat to the moment Garak realized what else had been done to the replicators besides reprogramming them back to their normal function. His _own_ code had activated once he had ordered his first raktajino of the day. The tailor coughed and put down his tea and coughed again, pushing it away as if it was a venomous viper.

“Goodness, are you all right?” Ziyal got to her feet, and Garak shook his head.

“No no don’t worry about me, my dear, I’m quite well.”

Garak thanked them all for breakfast, and promised Ziyal he would go get checked up at the medical station before hastily exiting the area. Songbird had to fight down the urge not to laugh before finishing up with the couple and leaving them to share a romantic breakfast together alone.

_Well, lets see how long it takes Garak to realize it was not me, but my husband, who chose to make the flavor of his tea Earl Gray. I was going to make it more sweet, like rooibos. How could I know he hated that specific flavor, after all? But Julian knew. That makes the choice all that much sweeter. Garak will be scrambling to figure it out, and when he does..._

Would the Cardassian understand? Songbird shared everything with the Doctor. Even such brutal attempts to scare him off by the doctor’s own friends. And they were his friends, he was willing to admit as much. But this kind of achingly genuine honesty was lost on some people. Mostly because he spent all his time lying about being an Augment that he preferred to be honest about everything else in his personal life. He felt that the very best spies needed to be honest about their mundane lives, because the less lies you told, the less likely people would suspect you, the more they would trust you, talk to you, even confide in you. Garak went out of his way to make himself as suspicious as possible, keeping people from trusting him with his outrageous lies. Maybe this was as intended. Maybe lies were a normal part of Cardassian daily chit chat and he was just missing some cultural cue? He had studied a lot of Cardassian music, but hadn’t met very many. And Garak wasn’t spying for Cardassia anymore, so what was Garak’s current game?

Songbird suddenly realized quite clearly why Julian was so intrigued and mesmerized by Garak. Messing with the food was a small thing on Garak’s part, if what Quark had told him was anything to go by. But he hoped showing that he was just as capable a spy would be enough to dissuade Garak from messing with his food. He wasn’t opposed to a costume malfunction or two. Being nude in front of the station personnel, however, was not going to pass notice so he’d make sure to check Garak’s work completely before putting anything on his body. One thing was for sure, the game had begun. A game he loved to play, and he knew Garak would too. And maybe they would become friends after this, in a way that Julian couldn’t be.

He knew Julian couldn’t be married to him if his friends weren’t approving of him, so he had to mend those fences before they turned into barbed wire barriers he could never cross. Today a line had been drawn, and he knew this would not be the last shot fired, but he was hopeful that when the last shots were fired across the battlefield, they would both be on the same side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The salt and pepper of nice people" is my favorite line from this story, and I think the best description of Bashir and O'Brien I have ever heard. I surprised myself with it.
> 
> I feel like Songbird is underestimating Garak and Julian is underestimating them both.
> 
> Also, if you hadn't guessed, Julian is dressed up like Indiana Jones, minus the hat.


	8. A Patriot's Remorse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Only made some minor edits. Thanks. :3

The courtroom was small, and blindingly white, just a corner of Constable Odo’s security office that he set aside for such small hearings, and it was not going to be a long hearing. The players in this little courtroom scene entered quietly; Constable Odo and Doctor Bashir, followed by Major Kira, who was acting as Bailiff since Odo was taking the Advocate’s seat. On the Federation side, Captain Sisko was required to represent the Federation, with Commander S’Vek as prosecutor.

First Minister Shakaar sat with two members of the Bajoran government in his office, watching the courtroom players file in remotely by viewscreen. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but petitions like these were so rare that the council preferred to handle them personally. He had opted for a minimal council representation, trying to get them all together outside of a normal session was almost like pulling teeth.

A lot was on his mind as he observed those seated in the trial room. The view screen was so limiting; he hated that he couldn’t be there in person, to sense the emotions of the people in the room, the smells, the sounds. He turned to look at Raima Anan to his left, the Minister of Foreign relations, and the Bajoran Minister of Health, Leitus Nyall. Both of them had agreed to say little, so as to move this along quickly. Bashir’s petition was straight forward.

It was the underlying politics of the petition that was eating Shakaar alive. But he was not about to bury Doctor Bashir under the avalanche of political strife that would follow if he aired out his grievances with the Federation here. Just the idea that this man could have been forced to live in a colony over his genetics was enough to make every hair on his body stand up on end. Sisko had reassured him that there was a movement of Admirals and supportive Captains who were against the idea of segregating Augments into colonies, and that was enough for him.

“I call this hearing to order,” he said, noted the date, and made sure the other side was hearing him, these communications were hard to keep online and keep secure at the same time. “Asylum petition hearing for Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir. Advocate for the applicant is Constable Odo of the Bajoran Republic. Extradition charges are being presented by the United Federation of Planets, represented by Captain Benjamin Sisko. Advocate for the Federation is Commander S’Vek of the United Federation of Planets…”

It went on like this until he had finished naming the roles of everyone in the room, and in his room, and then he opened the hearing to arguments, and on Bajor the petitioner went first, then the prosecution.

Naturally, Constable Odo already had the strongest argument, the matter Shakaar and Kira had spoken of in private before the trial. However, the verbal arguments were pretty good too, by themselves. S’Vek had arrived at DS9 whilst Bashir had been away, searched his quarters and logs for information to prosecute him whilst he was not even aware he was being investigated. On Bajor a person has the right to know they are under investigation before their personal property is searched for evidence. After finding very little, the Vulcan then followed Bashir to Parliament and continued his investigation, with orders to guard Bashir’s every movement. The string of problems with S’Vek’s investigation in regards to Bajoran law, and even adverse to Federation law, were incredible. It was almost as if the Federation had given S’Vek bad orders on purpose to mess him up some way.

S’Vek didn’t look offended by the attack on his investigation either, but when it was his turn to speak, he did have _some_ evidence to present to the court for all his work. Shakaar would give credit where credit was due. S’Vek had compared the communication transit numbers of the messages Doctor Zimmerman had received before his disappearance, with a packet of information that had left station Deep Space 9 two days after Zimmerman had left. The numbers matched. It had taken months of running the messages through a decryption sequence to get those numbers, but there they were. A case could be made in court that Julian Bashir was, in fact, the person who sent threatening messages to Doctor Lewis Zimmerman. Him, or someone else on Deep Space 9, but he had the only motive that they knew of. Even Odo was startled by this information, but whether the message was sent by Bashir or not could not be proven at this time. It wasn’t enough evidence for extradition.

There were, of course, other charges, all related to the person of Sala Gabriel and as to whether Doctor Bashir had helped her steal a shuttlecraft. Odo countered that there was no log of Deep Space 9 missing any shuttlecraft, or Gabriel ever visiting the station, or contacting Bashir in any way. In fact, nobody had found any evidence of a shuttlecraft being stolen by the person named Sala Gabriel. Where she had gotten the shuttle she had used to commit her crimes was anybody’s guess, but her crimes were her own. Trying to tie Bashir into that investigation was purely motivated by prejudice. All they had were loose threads with no knots. They all knew it.

Even S’Vek, who summed up his prosecution clearly by stating simply, “I have done as ordered, to fully investigate Doctor Bashir and all his activities and present what I have found to Starfleet and to Bajor. I have done so. As I have no further evidence to present, I will leave the matter in the hands of the Bajoran government.”

Shakaar noticed that there was something wrong with the way this young Vulcan was presenting himself. He was like someone who had been cut off in the middle of a pleasant walk, his hands were being tied by his orders and the circumstances, but Shakaar had no doubt he had not been ready to finish his investigation, or bring Bashir to trial, and he would be returning to his investigation regardless of the outcome. He had hit a barrier and even he was willing to admit it. Major Kira had described to him as a cross between ‘a Ferengi liquidator’ and ‘a blank piece of paper.’ She could be very accurate in her description of persons, and he trusted her judgement of others.

All in all, the whole trial took longer than it should, just to present the non-evidence that Starfleet required this officer to present in order to make a proper case. If he showed in any way that he wasn’t doing his job, he would lose it, an attorney in court had to do their best job, even when they were representing a hopeless case.

The final arguments finished up, and Shakaar made his verdict.

“I, Shakaar Edon, First Minister of Bajor, hereby approve of the asylum request of Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir, and extend those rights to include approval of his request for membership to the Bajoran Medical Association, so that he may continue to practice medicine on the Station Deep Space 9, by my hand,” he signed the document physically, and digitally, and he cleared up the trial with a final. “Welcome to Bajor Doctor, and Captain Sisko,” he looked at the man, who was a little surprised to be addressed as he had done very little during the entire course of the trial besides sit there, strong and imposing, embodying the Federation itself really. “I hope that with due course, the investigation Starfleet is conducting is concluded to the satisfaction of justice, and all those involved.”

“Thank you,” he replied, and Shakaar gave them all his regards before cutting off the communication.

Silence. His ministers were waiting for him to say something.

“A bit of a show trial really,” he decided. “Both parties knew what was going to happen. But the alternative would be to give S’Vek more time to find evidence that didn’t exist.”

“But does it? We have possible evidence that it was Bashir that sent the threatening letters to Zimmerman,” Raima admitted. “It gives me pause. Our first Asylum petition from a human, and we don’t know any more than the Federation. Did he? Didn’t he? Did someone else? Is he then responsible for the man’s disappearance?”

“It doesn’t _matter_ ,” Leitus said, voicing her opinion strongly. “It matters that we have massive amounts of evidence as to his character, his good nature, his strong support of Bajor. And we…”

“We,” Shakaar raised his hand to prevent a fight. “Have evidence that the Federation is planning to make segregated colonies for Augments, away from the rest of the Federation populace. That is why we accepted the petition, and let’s not split hairs over it. We now have to think of Bajor, and how this affects our relationship with the Federation.”

“Shakaar...”

“I promised Major Kira I would not make a fuss at Bashir’s hearing, or right away, I would give Admiral Ross the time he needs to address the subject of this concentration camp. But a fuss will have to be made, if they fail to address it in a way that we can accept,” Shakaar sat up. “Remember what you told me last night, Nyall?”

“Last night?” she frowned for a moment, because he used her given name. “About Kai Wynn’s request to exhume the bodies at Pok Tal Hospital? Her thirteenth such request…?”

He nodded. A dawn of realization filled the eyes of both ministers.

“Bajor’s own children could be the next victims of prejudice, if the Federation continues to target Doctor Bashir and humans like him. I want every minister on my council to re-examine, page for page, every law regarding those who are genetically engineered,” he looked at them both very firmly. “Bajor will be affected by them, the moment we sign the membership paperwork. Unless you can both say, without a doubt, that you don’t know a single person who was a patient of Pok Tal hospital?”

The Ministers both bowed their heads and Shakaar turned and walked over to the nearby window to look out over the capital of his planet. A small planet, but the Prophets had chosen Bajor, had picked Bajor, and then sent a Federation Emissary to give them a bit of strength to deal with the universe beyond their borders, to increase Bajor’s power, its place in the universe. Bajor was no longer considered the wild frontier, no longer out in the middle of nowhere, but was now in the middle of everything.

He wasn’t sure what was worse. He would contact Kai Wynn himself to make sure she continued to be discreet about her reasons for wanting to bring Doctor Bashir into Bajor’s traditional medical community. If she was keen, and willing to engage him in a positive way, he would do as she suggested, and send Els Renora to Earth as their Ambassador. The _kaj a kai_ ideas would die without their primary supporter around, but everyone would probably be happier that way and Wynn would get the support to do what she was planning with Pok Tal and hospitals like it.

_Doctor Bashir would decline the position of Kai anyway. Els means well, she was a bit dazzled by the Edo and their simple faith. I am a more practical man. If we exhume Pok Tal, I want Bashir in charge. He would know what to look for if anybody would. I think that’s what Kai Wynn has been planning for. I can’t think of any other reason she would make an atheist her haj a kai._

Then again, humans had a saying. Keep your friends close, and your enemies...closer.

\--------

Sisko carefully watched the Vulcan’s face for any sign of emotion as they waited, patiently, for the viewscreen to connect and Admiral Ross to join them in this private meeting. But not a hair was out of place, though his feelings, as they were, were obvious. He was no longer naive as to the intentions of Admiral Novos and he was not going to play along with a witch hunt. Woe be to the man who tried to keep information from a spy. S’Vek was likely mentally calculating his chances of his career being ruined if he confronted the man about it.

“Ben,” Ross immediately greeted him upon seeing him. “Commander,” he acknowledged the Vulcan with a nod. “The verdict?”

“Asylum was approved, as we predicted,” Sisko said. “That’s not why I’m calling you...though it is part of the reason why.”

“I see, the rumor has hit Bajor?”

“It has. Shakaar kept the hearing to a minimal number of ministers, because he knew he couldn’t keep them all from voicing their opinions. Protests have already started in the Capitol. If losing Bajor doesn’t phase Novos, well, it’ll phase Jaresh-Inyo.”

“It may, but the President is looking towards the Dominion now. He has decided to send the _Cairo_ back to us, and bring more Klingon ships into the fleet. He’s at least doing all the right things in that regard. He has a meeting tomorrow, virtually, with the Praetor of Romulus, and everyone is wringing their hands. Now is not a time for a big shakedown of top Admirals. So we’ll have to coast a bit for the time being and deal with Novos later on. And speaking of Klingons…?”

“Martok sends word of a great deal of activity on the planet in question. Repairs to the old prisoner of war camp have been completed.”

“If we were simply founding a colony, the prison would be dismantled in favor of prefabricated emergency shelters,” said S’Vek wisely. “Clearly Novos is not planning on making a colony.”

“Certainly not,” Ross was shaking his head now. “S’Vek, I was thinking of putting a cloak on the _Sentinel_ …and putting you in command of it.”

This was news to Sisko. He had been told that Ross was unwilling to give the Vulcan a command.

“Admiral…?” The Vulcan was unable to hide the emotion that briefly filled his eyes. Whatever it was, it passed too quickly for Sisko to quantify.

“A cloaked ship makes a much better ship for a spy, but you won’t be on a battlefield. I want you to take a trip to the neutral zone and see what you can discover there, because, believe it or not, I’m not convinced the Romulans are really ready to help us against the Dominion. If Romulus is making overtures to us, but also sending cloaked ships of their own it would be trouble. You find any evidence of this, and I want to know.”

“Congratulations,” Sisko gave the young man his support, since Ross was doing so, though Sisko wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

“What about the Bashir investigation?”

Sisko knew what was coming.

“We can’t continue that investigation, not under these circumstances, even with those transit numbers you found, not until we have more information. The Federation will accept Bashir’s asylum trial result and close the case. For now, the Romulans are the biggest concern.”

“Understood sir.”

Giving the wrong people the wrong ships at a time like this could be problematic. But if Ross was right, then S’Vek, a Vulcan and a spy, might be just the right person to have near Romulus.

“Now, Sisko, if it isn’t any trouble, we need to discuss who is going to replace Bashir on the Defiant. You’re going to need a mission doctor…”

Sisko had forgotten that. Patrols on the defiant were in Federation space as well as Bajoran space, but his ship could only have Starfleet personnel on board now. Bajor was not in conflict with the Dominion. He leaned back, and looked up at the ceiling, thinking strangely of Captain Picard and Captain Shelby, out on the DMZ dealing with Gul Madred’s forces. Incursions were problematic, and Sisko couldn’t stay at home for much longer.

“Doctor Bashir suggested Doctor Hei would be a good replacement if one was needed. I think I’ll put him on the job.”

“All right then, I’ll approve the paperwork. Let me know if anything else needs to be signed before you can leave. And in the meantime, I think it's time Bajor showed what it can do in terms of self Defense. Bajor’s militia has sublight ships that could be patrolling Bajor in your place.”

“Well,” Sisko mentally laughed a little. “They have their own patrols, but they are sublight, so they don’t really go far beyond the Solar system.”

“I want to see if they can be retrofitted for warp,” Ross said, and before Sisko could laugh, he added, “Have O’Brien look over one of the larger class ships before you leave. If he thinks it can’t be done, I’ll drop the matter and send Bajor some of our retired warp one ships to borrow. Something with a bit of speed, Bajoran weapons already have a lot of bite.”

“Do you have that authority?” S’Vek asked, surprised, but on the more positive side of the spectrum.

“Gentlemen, you are both looking at the new head of Starfleet Security. I _am_ the authority.”

“You finally took the chair,” Sisko said, grinning ear to ear. “How does it feel?”

“Well, it's different from switching to the Admiral position from Captain. An Admiral still gets to travel by starship once in a while. Me? I’m stuck overseeing the entire fleet from an office on Starbase 375. I’d invite you to come visit, but you’ve seen these places before. Totally military, outposts of a time when the Federation was just seeing how far it could go, totally lawless. The brig has mats on the floor,” his eyes were skeptical. “Whipping it into a more modern shape is another part of my job.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Sisko.

“Well gentleman, if there’s no more business to discuss, you have your orders, the rumor is out there, and Bashir is safe for now, we’ll see what comes of it.”

After the connection closed, Sisko looked up at S’Vek, appraising the Vulcan carefully, going over every memory he had of the man. S’Vek raised an eyebrow at his regard, and then Sisko felt it hit him hard. Like a punch. But he was not winded. He had seen this man’s face before and was amused. Highly amused.

“S’Vek, may I ask a personal question.”

“Of course sir.”

“I know you’re adopted but I’m curious. Do you know your birth father at all?”

“I know of him,” he was cautious now, and guarded.

“Is he, perhaps, an Ambassador on Romulus?”

S’Vek didn’t speak. The answer was obvious.

“Some people have a problem separating a child from their parents, especially a famous parent. Let me give you a bit of advice,” Sisko stood to his feet. “Don’t fight it. Use it to your advantage.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my father is the best cajun chef in all New Orleans. I joined Starfleet, but when I visit Earth, and his friends come around I only hear about how much I take after my dad, despite the fact that I’m a Starship captain, they only want to know about what I can cook. And I never fail to invite people in for a meal. They will always trust that as a Sisko, my meals will be first rate. I’ve made a lot of friends just by serving them a good meal. I’m following a recipe that anyone can follow, but it's the family reputation that they trust more than the recipe.”

“Ah. I see,” the Vulcan nodded, and turned to leave, then stopped. “Captain...be candid. Do you think I’m ready for Command of a Starship?”

Sisko crossed his arms.

“No I don’t. But I also think we don’t have many Commanders who are. And we don’t have enough ships to deal with a protracted conflict. Part of being a Captain, and an Admiral, is knowing when to promote someone, not just because they have earned it, but because the need for officers is there.”

“Do you think Lieutenant Hei is ready to be a Starship doctor?”

“I have no idea, to be honest, I barely know the man. But I guess now I’m getting a crash course.”

“I’m only suggesting that you double check with Girani, because, despite Bashir being granted asylum, and the case closed, there is evidence that he may not be trustworthy.”

“I don’t think Julian was the one who sent the messages.”

“No, and neither do I. But I’m quite sure he knows who did. And that he kept that information to himself. Who else on this station would be angry at Zimmerman for nearly ending Bashir’s career? And who has the coding skills to disguise his messages to Zimmerman so well that it took me three months to decrypt them?”

Sisko paused. He sat back in his chair. It dawned on him there was someone on this station with such a skill set and a motive...

_S’Vek is far too good at his job._

“Dismissed.”

S’Vek left the room, and Sisko brought up his console and searched the personnel location sensors. Doctor Bashir was now getting fitted for his new uniform. He was with Odo and Major Kira, the three of them were probably haggling over the cost, Inkarian wool was quite pricey, but the Bajoran militia required its use as part of a trade agreement with Inkaria.

Garak had often complained about the lack of inexpensive sources for the wool and begged Sisko to petition Bajor to use a less expensive, less popular fiber for its uniforms. Like the Federation did. Replicated fibers could still be comfortable as well.

Garak often sent messages outside of the station to fabric and fiber vendors outside Bajoran space, in hopes of finding more sources of the very rare fabrics he needed for his creations.

Some of his orders would travel to Bajor from very very far away.

“Sisko to O’Brien, can I see you in my office for a moment, Chief?”

“Yes sir, on my way!”

Woolgathering would have to wait. It was time to see if Bajor was able to start standing on its own two feet. If the Federation ever had to pull out, they needed to be able to hold their own. Old, sublight starlings just would not do.

Bajor needed the wings of eagles on their backs, travelling at warp speed.

\-------

“Well? How is it? A little itchy?”

“A little itchy,” Julian complained, and frowned as he looked at the mirror. The person who frowned back at him was not a Starfleet doctor.

He was a Bajoran doctor. In blue and purple Inkarian wool.

“See, Major, I told you, even humans find this wool unpleasant to wear!”

“It keeps people on their toes! And you get used to it. Inkaria is an important ally to Bajor.”

“Do you have a personal problem with Inkarian wool, Mister Garak?” Odo asked drolly, hanging a lampshade on a very long and outstanding prejudice of Cardassians not to trust Inkarians in any way shape or form.

Even though they were farmers who did little more than herd cattle and grow wheat. Julian couldn’t suppress his smile.

“It's a good uniform, I’m sure I’ll get used to it faster than anyone else,” Julian did a twirl. “I just want to get back to work.”

“I feel a bit put out,” Kira admitted. “Your Bajoran rank will probably be Major, since a Major rank is required to be head of a Bajoran medical facility on a military post.”

“Oh,” Julian smiled teasingly at her. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect it will be much longer before you make Colonel. In the meantime, I should go see what the heck has been going on in my sick bay.”

“First, we have a few things to discuss,” Odo said. “Now that you are Bajoran, you should know that security handles the salary of all Bajoran officers. But it's traditional for a new officer to get their first uniform as a gift from the government.”

“Be sure to _remind_ them with the bill that this is a very difficult fabric to obtain,” Garak said hotly, as they left, probably upset at being suddenly left out of the conversation. “And _remind_ them about the benefits of Tarkesian cotton…”

Julian laughed, and the three officers walked into Quark’s to have lunch and go over his new duties, just as a patron at the tables shouted ‘Dabo!’. The lucky win that heralded his arrival also heralded a lot of people congratulating him for winning his Asylum trial, and his new uniform was complimented, purple really suited him, and the navy brought out his dark eyes. Many people bought him drinks. Including women, to Quark’s amused delight.

Which was just as well. His Federation credit was now zero. Or so he thought.

“Doctor,” Quark leaned forward across the bar. “Songbird wanted me to let you know, he converted all your shared credit to Latinum this morning. Anything I can get you?”

He had forgotten that Federation couples shared their accounts. Being married to a person whose mind was so focused on the subject of money had some side benefits. Shared credit also meant Songbird’s credit was now a part of his own purse, and Songbird had an impressive savings account. They would have good credit anywhere they went.

“Something to eat maybe...bangers and mash. And a cup of Tarkalean tea.”

“Should have known. Just gimme a minute, I don’t know if I have that dish in my replicator yet.”

He did, but Quark was inclined to point out whenever anybody ordered a dish they always ordered, always eager to get his customers to try something new from the menu. Maybe something more expensive.

_Don’t get used to this. You know Songbird gets credit for working for the Federation too...I need to talk to him about what we’re going to do once he starts touring. We can’t travel together to Earth…his first concert is this week on the Promenade, he’ll be on Bajor for awhile, and then after that...wherever he wants to go.”_

Odo and Kira finished regaling him as to all the duties of a Bajoran officer and their traditions, which included temple duty, which even Odo participated in. Bajoran faith was tied into the military traditions of their world.

And it was then that it finally hit him.

_Bajor. Their world. Not mine. I can’t go home. I can’t go to Starfleet Medical and support Doctor Crusher’s vote for independent oversight of medical personnel. I am no longer a part of that. Any of that. I’ll never see England again. I can’t visit Mom...I can’t visit Dad this Christmas in prison, like I promised him. I promised and I can’t._

He didn’t know how he made it through the rest of their talk, or managed to get down the lunch he had ordered. He was reprieved, in part, with a sudden alert from Odo’s combadge.

“Cadet Nog to Constable Odo. We have a problem in Cargo Bay 3 sir.”’

“What’s the problem sir?”

“Well, Songbird wanted me to have his grand piano moved to his quarters but...well…”

“Well what cadet?”

“It fell over. Oh it isn’t broken too badly but...it’s full of drugs sir.”

Bashir’s face turned several shades of white.

“Don’t let anyone else know about it, Cadet,” Odo said. “Seal off the cargo bay and wait for security to arrive.”

“Yes sir.”

\----

It took only seconds to decide that he wanted Songbird there to see the carnage, before Odo contacted his security team and headed down to the cargo bay.

The drug bust at Quark’s had been a bust and he was keen to get back on the hunt, now that he had some witnesses and the station had been roused as to their intentions. The drug runners would scramble to get off the station, but his lock down of the docking ports and transporters was still on until Sisko said otherwise. The Ferengi were not pushing the drugs as he had guessed, so Odo had to give the Vulcan credit for that one. And Bajor didn’t prosecute drug users, they considered them to be mentally ill, so they needed to find a seller to track down the source. It was the manufacturers that were the hardest nut to crack. The ones who actually made the final profit. The people who didn’t use the drug at all. Mules were often addicts, but the best drug businesses were run by people who were one hundred percent clean.

Cadet Nog and the various engineering ensigns that had been moving the piano were waiting for him, probably all worried about the price of the instrument and how much it would cost them out of their salaries if they were charged for the damage. But the piano wasn’t nearly as expensive as the huge pile of hypocain dust bags that had been piled up inside under the strings. And spilled out all over the hammers. The first thing Songbird did when he saw the piano on its side, legs broken, was to squeal and make a face like a child whose toy had been taken by an angry parent.

“This was Elton’s piano! Do you know how much it's _worth_?”

“Not as much as these drugs I’m sure. Any idea in your mind how they got there?”

“I have no idea…! Oh god! Look at the missing keys! Shavi was right! Somebody did steal the ivory!”

“Hardly valuable,” Odo bluffed, hoping to bring Songbird to as great a state of hysteria as he could without losing him completely. “Have you been down here to the cargo bay since we found Shavi after her collapse?”

“No, I was in quarantine with doctor Bashir, you know that!” his focus was slowly turning back to his interrogation, but he was crying now. “I was visiting her today when you called me. She...did say she was…worried about...the...ivor...y…”

Realization dawned over his face, like water washing over a rock and cleaning the sand away. The tears stopped immediately.

“That tells me what I needed to know,” Odo turned to his security team. “He’s clean. I’ll have a talk with Shavi Kavin next. Secure the infirmary until further notice…”

“Now hold on a minute!” Songbird stopped him. “I know I have blinders on about my friend, but I also know that Shavi is deathly against hard drugs like hypocain. They killed her sister. She didn’t put these here and she wouldn’t sell them…”

“No, but she may very well be _using_ them, and she may have made an order…”

“For _this_ much?” Songbird flailed, the tears flowing again, this time real tears, not the crocodile tears that this human had perfected down to an art. 

“No, my guess is that the sellers dumped all their stock of drugs here during the raid on Quark’s, knowing that Shavi was in the hospital and unable to pay for her shipment. They recouped payment and made up for their losses by breaking off the keys of your piano. Yes, the ivory is valuable, but probably not as valuable as the hypocain. Though, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a red piano.”

“Elton John was a _legend_ ,” Songbird said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Restoring this is going to cost more than all those drugs did, I promise. I’d be angry at her but...I know how easily she must have been manipulated into buying drugs…”

“Oh…?” Odo was keen to know everything. 

“The Rot is a very _painful_ disease,” Songbird hissed. “On Selelvia hypocain is a legally prescribed painkiller!” 

That was more helpful than anything else the man had told them.

“Hypocain is manufactured all over the quadrant as a narcotic, but only a few worlds consider it a legal substance. If the manufacturers were selling to her, they were probably already selling on Selelvia. Which means they may have come here to sell to her specifically, and then started selling to Bajorans.”

“We haven’t been on this station that long...”

“And neither have the drugs.” Odo paused for a moment and turned to his team. “Tell Commander S’Vek if he’s available that we will be questioning a Selelvian. I know Vulcans are immune to telepathic suggestion.”

“Will...Shavi be in serious trouble?” Songbird had moved to sit down next to his broken piano, looking rather broken himself.

“Only if she doesn’t cooperate. I’m sorry Songbird, but it's important that we find out where the drugs come from. After the occupation, drug use was rampant on Bajor and whenever they crop up, Sisko’s policy is zero tolerance. He’s usually more lenient on addicts, especially if they help with an investigation.”

“Then may I make a suggestion?”

Odo saw the look in the broken man’s eyes, the look of someone whose only concern now was his friend.

“I’m listening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elton John's red piano is a very beautiful thing and this chapter was very painful.


	9. Family Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Small edits here. I changed my mind about the major rewrite. But I'm still editing. Funny how that happened.

“You’ve been in denial Julian…would you pay attention?”

“I’m sorry Dax, you were saying?” he shook his head, and jerked his gaze away from the exit towards her again.

Odo had left Quark’s not long ago, and Kira had gone to get updates from Ops about the situation, and now he was sitting here, finishing his meal, waiting to hear what was going on, and listening to Dax...who was trying to apologize for the bet.

“Forget about it…”

“No really, I’m listening now, I’m sorry. It's been a weird day.”

“I can see that. Shiny new uniform huh?” her blue eyes were twinkling in that Dax way, and momentarily he thought of bucking off Songbird, dodging Worf and haring off with Dax to Risa...not that she would ever go along with it.

“What I was getting to was that I know it was wrong, I know that people have been going crazy with the betting, messing with your love life, but I want you to know that I never once got in the way of your relationships. I made the bet, that’s all, and I told Quark I was withdrawing from the pool after you asked for the tongo game. Quark understood, and gave me a full refund."

“Odd behaviour from Quark. The house keeps a percentage of the pool profit doesn’t he?”

“Yeah...but you’re missing the point Julian.”

“I’m just distracted by the trial this morning…”

_And worried that I might be married to a drug addict..._

“Well, not to put too fine a point on it, the reason I bet on Garak was that you had been very much ready to start a relationship with him when you left DS9, despite the lack of lunches, and then suddenly came back with a husband. Who is probably in security right now right? Let's just get your problem out of the way now. Isn’t this a sign?”

Julian looked at her impassively.

“Songbird stays. He’s non-negotiable. For more than one reason…He’s more than just a pretty face Dax...”

“I know that, I have been paying attention.” she rolled her eyes. “I can tell, he’s more intelligent than the showy flashy personality he puts out for the public...”

“Oh that’s him too. It's all him, and that’s the thing,” Julian bent forward. “Even when he’s lying, he’s honest about it. Anything he lies about that I find out about, is fully talked about. No games. No diversions. I can trust he means what he says. He tells it to me straight. I never have to worry that I’ll never know what he really thinks, because he tells me. His emotions are real. There are no plots or tricks. It's so important, honesty in a relationship. And don’t get me wrong, it was exciting, and intriguing, and rather sexy visiting Garak’s world. But it was still a world of deception. I want trust.”

“I think Garak has given you a great deal of trust,” Dax said, and she wasn’t chiding him, she was maybe trying to remind him. “That he involved you in his world at all, is quite a bit of trust…”

“Maybe, but Cardassia will always be first with him, and I don’t want to compete with an entire planet,” Julian balked. “Cardassia will always be his first love, how can you be with someone who is going to leave you the minute it's politically permitted?”

“You’d find a way, you know you would,” Dax said. “He still interests you, and you can’t just drop him. And these desperate excuses are not meant to prove you don’t have an interest in him, but because you desperately want to keep your current lover.”

Julian moaned and put his head on his hands.

“I...have it pretty bad still don’t I?”

“I think Songbird would get over it…”

“Maybe, but I’m still not going to divorce him, if only because he made that bet,” Julian put the stubborn foot down. “He’s young all right, and fascinated with me, but he deserves a chance to be married without people constantly pressuring him to divorce. That’s just not on…”

“You can’t be with him and Garak at the same time.”

Julian smiled. He grinned and saw the moment Dax realized the truth when her eyes widened as large as Quark's ears. Quark was clearly listening, he had stopped wiping down the bar top and was staring at them.

"300 years of wisdom saved up, and you forget about multiple marriages. If Garak asked me, I'd probably say yes. I know he wants to. But he has never asked for anything beyond friendship. I'm not the one who has been holding out all this time...he is."

"Julian...being with two people at once...is even riskier than marrying a stranger."

“Which is why I need time to see if this marriage with Songbird is going to _stick_. To see if it is worth fighting for. So far it has been. And since you are out of the pool, give me until Peldor to figure things out. If I’m no longer interested in Songbird by then…I’ll ask for an annulment. But otherwise, please, leave my marriage plans to myself and not get involved. Not unless you know exactly what I have planned.”

Dax grinned. She had won the conversation and the point, but he wasn’t going to let her enjoy his misery.

“Garak has to wait too. I’m not going to cheat on Songbird, I need his cooperation first. He might not be willing to share. I can control a physical attraction, pretty well enough not to act on it,” he did look firmly at her. “I want Songbird to be able to stand on his own two feet with his music as well, so we’ll have the time he’s on Bajor touring before Peldor to really figure out if I'm really interested in him. If I can’t be in a relationship with someone as close as Bajor well…”

“You always have had trouble with that.”

“I just…” Julian felt like his world was tilting. The reality of what he was agreeing to, potentially ending his marriage, when he’d only been married a month, felt absolutely horrid. “It feels real with us. Don’t you know? And I’ve said this a million times before with people haven’t I? So how can I know? Not without more time.”

Now she smiled, knowingly.

“Well. Peldor isn’t that far away…”

“It isn’t.”

“I _don’t_ think your marriage with Songbird will last, but I do respect your decision to take a chance on it. It's a far cry from the one night stands you used to get by on.”

“Thank you, and I’m grateful you pulled out of the bet. Not out of the tongo game though, I’m guessing?”

“That’s still on, but I heard Sisko has a bet on you so the pools for that game would be off by a mile…”

Kira’s voice suddenly chirped over the communication system,

“Ops to Doctor Bashir, please report to the infirmary…”

Julian suddenly felt giddy. Light headed. Ready to return to life as normal. As if all the worries had melted away. A good talk with Dax could do that for a person.

“Back in action huh?” she said. “I’ll see you later tonight for tongo.”

“You’re going to loooose,” he sing-songed, mimicking Quark the night before.

“Lose to Quark maybe…”

“We’ll just have to see if he loses to me,” Julian added for her, and exited with a merry step.

Dax just put her hand on her chin, and smiled.

\-------

“Howdy da Mama Bird…”

“Come to visit me again, Birdling?”

Shavi’s voice was like sandpaper, her eyes were sunken holes, and her face was wax. But the warmth was still in her voice. He grasped readily at the proffered love and took one of her hands to hold. Odo and S’Vek were standing outside the door out of her view, monitoring them.

“My piano is busted up,” he said. “They took the ivory. Left drugs all over the strings.”

Shavi looked paler now, if that was even possible.

“Oh Birdling, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Why did this happen? Tell me...”

Shavi shook her head firmly.

“No….”

“I don’t want to lose you, I don’t want you to go to prison. Please…”

“You don’t understand, Birdling, I know you are young, but not that young. I brought them here at their request. They wanted to make a start here. They are dangerous. I couldn’t say...no…”

“How dangerous?”

That was softly from his voice, but he knew it was what S’Vek wanted him to ask her.

A mind meld was an impractical, personal, and dangerous solution to the problem of talking to Shavi. But Songbird knew she was tough as nails, as Odo discovered that the first time he tried to question her, insisting that the meld was not needed, he could convince her to make a deal, easy. He had been wrong.

But a mindmeld was a different animal altogether. For the first two minutes they had been swimming in each other’s surface thoughts, learning how to communicate with one another. The Vulcan’s emotions were still impossible to discern fully, even as he was putting questions into Songbird’s head. No doubt, S’Vek had done this before, just as Songbird had guessed, and had been willing to give it a try, no concern whatsoever that he would be compromised in any way.

Songbird however...was a different sort of person, and S’Vek had been startled at the strength of his mind. But since he was already there, and the meld was strong and stable, he agreed to continue the investigation this way.

“Dangerous enough that I would rather go to prison.”

“Dangerous, would you say ‘green skin, and a lot of money’, dangerous?”

Shavi had often described the Syndicate this way in the past. Shavi's eyes widened. Her hands tightened on his in confirmation, one of their secret signals.

“You are so young, my poor Birdling, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt...I made a mistake, the pain was too much. It was just too damn much, I was willing to agree to everything in order to get regular shipments of drugs. I wanted to be my best for you...But I didn’t know they were so serious. I should have…”

She coughed, hard, and heaved, and the nurse had to be brought in to give her water.

“Is this going to take much longer,” Jabara asked Odo as she was leaving, and levelled a glare at S’Vek. Songbird got the strange double vision of seeing through his own eyes, and the Vulcan’s. She probably thought this was all S’Vek’s idea.

“Not much longer…”

Songbird concentrated on just letting Shavi talk, and holding her hand, interpreting the usual signals they would send back and forth for S’Vek, inputting the Commander’s questions only if they weren’t too out of place with the conversation, and glaring mental daggers at him whenever he insisted. She finally gave them a name to contact and Songbird kissed her cheek.

“Don’t get involved, Songbird, keep singing your songs, go to Bajor with your Bashir, buy a house, do normal people things. It's too dangerous, the Syndicate...They will eat you alive.”

Songbird left her at last, and was followed closely by S’Vek, and they went over to another private infirmary room, where Julian was waiting to help them separate from the mind meld.

Songbird had to admit, his lover was _damned_ attractive in purple and navy. But he may have been biased, purple was his favorite color.

“Fascinating,” S’Vek was observing the wall, but his mind was in Songbird’s. “You have an interesting mind, Songbird. How long were you planning to keep your augmentation a secret?”

“Well, not any more I guess, thank you for telling everyone in this room!”

The only people here were Julian and Odo, and the latter chuckled, clearly he already knew, or was amused to have a suspicion confirmed.

“Easy there, let's get you two parted…” Julian moved him over to the biobed and put the monitoring pads onto his temples.

“Speaking of keeping things a secret,” Songbird couldn’t stop himself. “How long were you going to keep it a secret that you have a famous father?”

“All right you two,” Odo pushed them practically together, but Julian looked understandably confused.

“Famous?”

“Ambassador Spock…” the Vulcan admitted, but pointedly put his fingers to Songbird’s temple and cheek to prevent him from talking anymore. “Now quiet.”

Songbird noticed that Julian was quick to recover, making sure they were properly separated, double checking their lifesigns and brainwaves in his monitor. Once Songbird knew that the mindmeld was safely ended he pressed on.

“I want to just say that you should have recused yourself from the investigation.”

S’Vek gave him a warning look, but didn’t speak.

“Being the son of an Ambassador isn't a reason to preclude you from an investigation,” Odo said. “You must have seen something else during the mindmeld.”

Songbird could have kissed him. S’Vek could have just shut him down, but Odo casually made a comment that Songbird would naturally respond to.

“S’Vek was involved in Zimmerman’s holo-program assessment before he went missing, weren’t you?”

The Vulcan was as impassable as stone, and simply stared at him.

“You were in charge of deciding whether or not Zimmerman’s medical holo-program would remain in Starfleet or be scrapped,” Songbird pressed on, confronting him about the information...S’Vek really hadn't tried to hide it from the other man, confident that Songbird wouldn’t say anything. He was wrong…And Songbird’s mind had nothing in it that he really was afraid of becoming known.

“Yes, that is correct. The program had some serious flaws in the security of the design, and I was assigned to make sure it wouldn’t be a danger to have it on Starships.”

Julian’s eye’s were darting back and forth between him and S’Vek. Nobody dared to move. 

“You were also the one who decided to send Zimmerman to DS9, asking him to change the appearance of the hologram to someone who was actually a medical doctor, and so Zimmerman agreed. He came here _because_ of you.”

“This is classified information related to Starfleet Security, Mister Ross. I’ll thank you not to share anymore.”

“And I’ll thank you to be honest about why you took the case against my husband!” Songbird said, hands on hips. “You were promoted to Commander after Zimmerman’s new design was scrapped by Starfleet Security, at _your_ suggestion.”

“This is also classified,” S’Vek said, no longer willing to play. “I could bring you up on charges for sharing it with Doctor Bashir and Odo present.”

“Agreed. And once he’s in Federation space you are free to do so.” Odo said, looking like he too, was tiring of Songbird’s antics.

“Is there a point to all this?” Julian asked, looking like he really wanted to know...was hoping…

“The _point_ is that Zimmerman disappeared _right after S’Vek_ was promoted,” he turned back to the Vulcan. “You were in charge, you knew he was going to fail. Discovering a serious security breach in a medical program? Quite a big thing! Could have given him time to fix things, but you recommended the rejection of his program entirely. You set him up for failure in _order_ to get promoted!”

“An argument could be made for that," Odo said, catching them both off guard. “If Zimmerman had realized this and revealed the information to anyone…” Odo finished, realization dawning in his eyes. “It makes Commander S’Vek as much a suspect to his disappearance as Doctor Bashir.”

For a moment S’Vek’s eyes turned a little less...impassive, but he just jerked his head around and stalked out the door without a word.

Julian was gaping, and Songbird turned to smile at him. But Odo wasn’t smiling.

“The reason for the mind meld was so you could ask Shavi the questions more easily than we could, without her being able to influence your mind. And this was exactly what I was concerned about, that you two would not be able to keep yourselves from using information you saw in each other’s minds against each other. He’s not going to take that lying down.”

“I’m sorry Odo, but as soon as I saw that, I knew it had to be said, or they will put him back on the investigation again, and you have to agree that’s a very good reason not to be given charge of a case isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” said Odo. “Though I suspect Starfleet Security will side with him, so unless he does recuse himself you’re stuck with him, and now you have poked the dragon, so to speak. Being the son of an Admiral can only protect you so much...”

“Eh, for me poking dragons is on brand,” Songbird brushed it off casually, but internally he was calculating his next move. It was just another part of who he was.

“Well, back to _this_ investigation, because there was one thing you didn’t ask Shavi, that I wish S’Vek had thought to ask,” Odo added, and they both turned their head to look at him.

“What question?” Julian had a look on his face that was rather cross, and Songbird couldn’t blame him.

“Why is the Syndicate selling drugs on Bajor when they have regular customers on Selelvia for this narcotic?”

“To get a foothold on Bajor, and through the wormhole?” Songbird surmised.

“Or for the Dominion,” Julian said ominously.

“Yes, that was also my thought.” Odo finished. “The Dominion could also have made a deal with the Syndicate to find ways to get Starfleet off of Bajor. An unstable planet with a failing economy would be too difficult to protect during a war, unfortunately. Starfleet needs Bajor to be able to be self-sufficient in a crisis.”

“Destabilize the planet’s economy,” Julian counted on his fingers as he spoke. “That is the first thing the Dominion would do if they want to control Bajor without actually having to be here.”

“Drugs and corruption are just one way to start the process,” Odo huffed. “It's time I get back on the hunt...Tell me if Shavi lets you know anything else,” he stomped off to the door and left them alone. “And Songbird?”

“Yes…?” Songbird put a very sweet wide smile on his face.

“If you have anything else damning that you discovered whilst swimming around in S’Vek’s head, please don’t tell anyone else about it before you tell _me_. If I hadn’t been here you would have been in even more trouble. A command level officer has to approve a mind meld before that information can be used in an investigation. I am happy to have such a rank with Starfleet, but it was a close shave.”

The Changeling left, and Songbird turned to look at Julian.

“So that’s that then…” but he didn’t continue. Julian still looked very cross.

“Matthew,” he used Songbird’s given name, making him wince painfully. “You shouldn’t have shared that information with me, or with Odo, right in front of him like this!”

“Julian…”

“No, no, don’t tell me he deserved it! I have enough trouble without all my friends thinking they can manipulate and threaten people around me thinking they are helping me. That isn’t how friendship works!”

“What do you mean Julian? What other friends are threatening people on your behalf?”

The doctor stopped for a moment, then sighed, realizing his slip, and slumped a little, walking over to the wall to kick it whilst thinking carefully through his next words...

“During the hearing this morning, S’Vek revealed that he found transit numbers linking the threatening messages to Zimmerman back here to Deep Space 9. I didn’t send them. But can you imagine what would happen if someone, possibly S’Vek, had killed Zimmerman?”

“He’s not dead,” Songbird made a 'pfft' sound. “He’s hiding somewhere from whoever threatened him. Even Dad thinks so.”

“And if he _was_ killed, what if Starfleet decided to arrest the _same person_ who _sent_ him the threatening letters?”

Songbird was putting two and two together, and suddenly he had some serious, serious regrets.

“I lied basically, about not knowing anything about the messages,” Julian continued. “I did it because I was still a Federation citizen, with all the rights and privileges that come with that, and knew I could handle the flack. I knew I had support and that the charges couldn’t stick. But Garak is _only_ here under Federation _protection_ ,” Julian continued, looking severely stricken. “As a former member of the Obsidian Order, Bajor won’t want to keep him here if the Federation doesn’t...he could go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit, or be extradited to Cardassia in exchange for prisoners of war, and executed...for _what_? Because he was angry that Zimmerman found out my secrets before he did?”

“Julian…I...” It was just getting worse and worse by the second.

“Songbird, this is my home now, I can’t go back to Earth, and I need my friends, like Garak, here with me. Alienating S’Vek after he mind melded with you? When we need him to not have any more reasons to go after me? He might go after Garak to cover his involvement! So please Songbird, please! Leave this alone! For my sake, if not for Garak!”

Julian took him and held him tightly, and Songbird pushed his face into his chest, feeling embarrassed and ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just wanting the truth out, I didn’t know, didn’t think it would hurt anyone! I don’t want there to be anymore investigations either. I _like_ Garak, believe it or not. I want him to stay too.”

Julian looked at him carefully, taking his face in his hands.

“Are _you_ all right?” he finally asked. “During, and after a mindmeld sometimes the emotions from a Vulcan can be overwhelming. With Shavi, with all of this...”

“I’ll be alright,” Songbird said, feeling that he was anywhere but all right, the mention of Shavi suddenly bringing them back to why he was here. “Shavi will recover, she’ll get a plea deal that lets her walk.”

“Probably straight into a Bajoran hospital for drug addiction treatment.”

“Yes, but I’ll be fine. I’ll fix my piano...I’ll find a good restorer, we have some money now, advances from the concert tickets...”

“Songbird…”

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” but he was quickly losing control, the tears were starting and his face crumpled and he was unable to stop it. “Oh god!” he could barely gasp it out. “She’s like my _mother_ Julian! More than any other woman, and seeing her like that...desperate, sick, helpless, _frightened_! It’s awful! Just _awful_!”

His knees turned to jelly under him and Julian, rather than holding him up, sank down with him, and cried with him. It was a horrible painful despair...it filled him whole.

But it wasn’t just emotional pain, it was the pain of an Augment who was no longer able to control the rage, and it was coming out all at once, control gone in an instant. And when an Augment lost control he was just as dangerous as a Vulcan during _plak tow_. Songbird knew that he could be just as ferocious as any Klingon, self-control be damned!

A sudden silence filled the air. He didn’t feel human in this state. He didn’t feel in control.

He didn’t recognize the sound coming out of his throat, the keening shriek of a dying thing, and hadn’t realized he had been making that sound until Julian was coaxing him gently and lovingly out of the fugue he had fallen into. He couldn’t remember losing his mind, but at some point he had, and now he was staring into Julian’s frantic worried eyes, a nurse nearby with water, both of them looking ready to hook him up to a machine. A look around the room showed...smashed consoles, broken furniture, a dent in the wall where his achingly broken fist had gone.

This was why people feared Augments.

“He’s coming around…”

“Do you want some water? Get him onto the bio-bed.”

“No!” Songbird said, too loud, then walked it back. “No. Take me home Julian, please? Quark can fire me, if he wants. I just want to go home...I don’t want to be a spectacle, not with this, please?”

“Hold on...” he put something on Songbird’s temples, those damn monitors again, and helped him to his feet. “Easy now…”

Songbird didn’t know whether he wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, or go strangle S’Vek until the damned smug man apologized for everything, and that was not a normal thought.

“Just take me home...please.”

“All right,” Julian touched him, touched his face, looking into his eyes to make sure he was in a normal state. But the feeling of control wasn’t there yet, and probably wouldn’t be back again for hours. “All right, I’ll take you home.”

\-----------

“Captain…my report.”

Sisko was surprised when S’Vek arrived in his office that evening to drop off the day’s report. Surprised by the PADD dropped silently in front of him, and then further silence as S’Vek left...or tried to.

“Hold on Commander,” Sisko sat up and took the report PADD curiously. “I know you’re due to shove out soon, but no need to run off yet. Sit and talk.”

“I am overdue to leave sir…”

“Odo still has the ports shut and he’s not going to open them up until the next day,” Sisko continued, knowing that it was probably true and going by his instinct. “And Chief O’Brien thinks he can retrofit a warp sled to the largest of Bajor’s fleet. That will be something you’ll want to see for yourself.”

“I do not see why Constable Odo would keep the station locked down now,” S’Vek said, the man was looking severely rattled, and Sisko was concerned. Anything that could rattle a Vulcan had to be serious. “The Orion Syndicate would not have remained on the station long enough to be discovered. They’ve left by now, by some other means.”

“Probably a cloaked ship,” Sisko surmised, as he reviewed the mission report.

His eyes caught on to the part about the mindmeld. An interesting way to convince the stubborn telepathic woman to cooperate and still ask the questions they wanted the answers to. Have a trusted friend ask them. As a side note, S’Vek indicated that Songbird was, indeed, an Augment, and that S’Vek would recommend he not be permitted to mindmeld in future investigations.

“If you have no further need for me sir, I’ll be on the _Sentinel_."

“No, but if there is anything you left out of the report, now is the time to tell me.”

“It is all in the report, sir.”

“Everything?”

Sisko’s eyes danced warningly. Odo had already been to his office with his own report. He knew all about Songbird’s outrage and didn’t want S’Vek coming back later and complaining about something that he hadn’t reported himself.

“One thing,” S’Vek looked sideways, and then stood to attention. “I have decided to officially recuse myself from any further investigation regarding the messages sent to Lewis Zimmerman. I feel that I was too close to the subject and see now that it was an error to assign me to this task. An unbiased and objectionable outsider would be a better fit.”

“I see,” Sisko nodded, his respect for the younger man improved substantially by this. “I’ll send word to Starfleet.”

S’Vek looked now as if all life had been returned to a fossil and the resulting dinosaur was eager to bite. “Let Songbird know my codename is Marshall.”

“Marshall?” Sisko was now completely puzzled.

“He will understand.”

“Very well. Dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan man, Vulcan man  
> Doing the things a Vulcan can  
> What's he like? It's not important  
> Vulcan man
> 
> Is he a spy, or is he a Spock?  
> When he mindmelds does he get lost?  
> Or does lost get him instead?  
> Nobody knows, Vulcan man
> 
> Music man, Music man  
> Music man hates Vulcan man  
> They have a fight, Music wins  
> Music man
> 
> I've been listening to They Might Be Giants. This might be an important chapter. S'Vek might be an important character. Who can say?


	10. Prospero's Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Some minor edits made. :3

Julian and Songbird’s quarters were too quiet that morning, and breakfast was out of the question yet. Both of them were reading the day’s messages off a PADD as they waited for Odo to transport the piano, which had been what woke them; Odo contacted them to let them know he was going to do it, and he needed them to clear space. Songbird was deathly tired, and Julian was not on morning shift today, so they waited around after moving the coffee table out of the way. Messages were the only things Julian had the energy to put up with this morning.

Fortunately S’Vek had left the station without any further trouble, but it was only a matter of time. He would be back. Dax sent a message gloating over Julian’s failure to show up for the tongo game, and Julian replied, promising he would go explain to Dax privately what had happened so she wouldn’t think he was copping out of their agreement. He still wanted to end the betting pool, come hell or high water.

“Odo to Doctor Bashir, we’re ready to begin whenever you are.”

“We’re ready here.”

“Very good. Energize.”

Julian sighed as the object materialized on the carpet in the one open space that was big enough for it; right in the middle of the living room. Even moving the coffee table didn’t help. They would have to move the piano a little more towards the back so they could walk around it. Odo had spent all night examining every inch of it for evidence, collecting all the loose drugs by putting it through the transporter filtration buffers. Transporting a priceless antique multiple times that way often devalued it in the eyes of some collectors, since it never actually rematerialized after the first transport and went through several cycles before reforming. Was it even still the same energy that had originally formed the item? Not that it was worth anything now with its missing keys. 

“How much do you think it’s worth?” Songbird asked, as they moved the piano closer to the wall.

The question confused Julian. Songbird was intelligent enough to know how much his piano was worth, surely.

“Maybe one hundred slips of latinum?” Songbird continued firmly, eyes twinkling. 

“Probably a lot more…?” Julian smiled as he realized what Songbird meant. “What are you thinking?”

“Garak needs to be a citizen of Bajor more than I do.”

It was a quiet thought, but laced with so much emotion. Songbird didn’t want a divorce, but he would do anything to make Julian happy. That augment bond could move people to surprising acts of self-sacrifice, the doctor had no doubt about that, and it warmed him to no end, and filled him with a concern that was equally powerful. Fortunately, he had a better solution to their problem than divorce.

“God,” Julian grinned, such a wide grin that it almost split his face. “You never do listen to anything I say do you? You and Dax...”

“What? I do too!”

“Cardassians believe in multiple spouses,” he stated outright. “Which were made legal here during the occupation, are still legal here, and are legal all over the Federation. I told you as much when you first asked me about Garak’s coupon.”

Julian could almost feel his own eyes turning into balloons along with Songbird’s. Being married to two spies was a very intriguing prospect, and the idea had been taking shape in his head since his conversation with Dax.

“Wait…I mean...we…?”

“If Garak wants to get married, I’ll marry him. But he has to ask me _himself_. He has spent the better part of our relationship lying about how he really feels. I want something honest from him. And I still want to stay married to _you_. So let's not argue about it,” Bashir smiled, and put his lips to Songbird’s beautiful forehead. “Garak wants to buy a house on Bajor and he needs someone to co-sign. If you really think I should marry him, then I think it would be a fine idea for us to sign a lease with him. We can go when the quarantine is over. Which it probably is, quite frankly I haven’t even checked...you are quite a distraction.”

“Let’s wait until after my concert at least…” Songbird started to fret, as Julian knew he would. “I don’t know. A house of our own? Are you sure? I mean, are you really sure? About staying married? Would Garak really co-spouse with me?”

There it was. That uncertainty. That doubt. Mostly because Songbird was young, but also because of that little thing called fear, that was lying just around the edges of Songbird’s eyes. He didn’t have many people in his life he cared for, he’d had unreliable parents and Shavi was now down and out. He had nobody to really lean on. The idea of losing Julian had probably been eating him up inside.

“I think Garak will come around and stop making threats once he realizes I still care about him, and I’m willing to say ‘I do’. He just wants to have that stability that Cardassian marriages are traditionally based on. And my life is anything but stable lately.”

“He’ll ‘Come around’? _Seriously_? He poisoned my tea! He’s serious about having you Julian!”

“He’s serious about protecting me from users, but he’s not going to kill you. He did something similar with Leeta, though poison wasn’t involved. And the poison he used with you wasn’t a fatal one. He just wanted to scare you off. And I think you’ve been handling him well. Besides...he needs to be willing to accept you are a part of my life now.”

“But…”

Songbird’s awkward discomfort was so cute, Julian kissed him fully to quiet him and went into the bedroom to start getting ready for the day. One thing he could say about Songbird, whilst he wasn’t a quitter, he did know when to drop a topic like a rock.

“Oh, about the concert, you have to see these posters Ziyal designed for me!” Songbird followed him into the bedroom with his PADD again in hand, and threw himself down into the bed immediately. “She did them in a day! Not that we need to advertise, we’re almost sold out. Quark was actually rubbing his hands physically. We’ll have to sell standing space...”

Songbird’s voice was so vibrant, so positive. It was almost absurd, listening to him talking about his concert, it all felt so surreal after what had happened in the infirmary the night before.

Basically Julian had watched the young man go into a state of extreme uncontrolled violence, and had been unable to do anything but watch the storm that was his husband unleash its fury on his medical equipment. If he hadn’t kept an emergency kit in his quarters he never would have agreed to bring him back there.

Julian had gone into this kind of state once, just once, on Rubicun III, under extreme circumstances on the battlefield, and Captain Jellico had been the one to bring him back. Watching Songbird start smashing consoles, and then to hear that it had happened to him _before_...that for Augments this was _common_...!

_God! Do all Augments have this as a chronic problem? A lottery chance of turning into a hurricane every time they lose control? Everyone but me…_

If Songbird hadn’t been with Julian, who knows what he might have done.

_Crawl under Shavi’s bed and never leave her side, maybe. Regrouping with the pack is a form of instinct behavior._

“Now I want to wear purple and blue for my concert,” Songbird was now watching Julian put on his new uniform. “But Ziyal’s unity posters have a very black and white yin and yang vibe to them...She’s probably on the promenade with Jake right now hanging them up. Maybe Garak is helping them? We should invite them to Bajor with us too!”

“That’s a good idea. They can chaperone you and Garak…”

“Jujube!”

Julian grinned. He knew Garak wouldn’t accept the terms of surrender so easily, when it came to Songbird, even if it meant having Julian back eating lunches with him, potentially married. Julian had been envisioning them as a happy little three ring circus from the moment he had spoken the idea to Dax. But it was probably going to be more like a tug-of-war. But Garak _had_ applied for citizenship several times and been turned down. Julian was a citizen by proxy of his asylum request, and once he confirmed that multiple spouses were covered, he _would_ marry Garak, if only to protect him. Maybe the two spies could be in cahoots in dealing with S’Vek?

_Spies! The two of them are going to kill me! I can barely handle dealing with one spy let alone two!_

Or three. S’Vek would not take his licks quietly. He would find a way to repay them for having his secrets come out, emotionless on the outside though he was. But then again, S’Vek had melded with Songbird willingly. Almost as if he wanted them to know how dangerous he was. Almost as if he was saying, ‘Caution; contents are under extreme pressure, do not hold near an open flame.’

Julian would take that to heart, and find ways to keep the Vulcan at bay. And...he had a good idea as to how to at least get Garak’s cooperation with Songbird.

“I know what we can do to make Garak like us both very very much, enough to marry me and still keep you around…”

“Hmm?” Songbird was so thoroughly distracted just from Julian stroking his hair.

“The Thread.”

“What?” the musician sat upright.

“You told me there were Vulcans on The Thread…why not Cardassians?”

“You want to put me out of a job?” Songbird teased, but light was dancing in his eyes.

“I think you two could communicate with one another through The Thread, and then with Ross, and help each other out. And Garak will love having another secret information network to be a part of. That’s what you use the Thread for right? Besides gossip...”

He could almost see the gears turning in his lover’s head.

“Excellent!”

“Though, we’re still helping him buy a house. He’ll like that at least, since he's been looking for a new shop on Bajor every time he visits. Even he knows how tentative his position is on the station. We could go house shopping, get married...”

“Two birds, one stone, that whole bit?”

“Exactly.”

If Garak knew what they were planning…Julian couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.

“Great minds think alike,” Songbird was looking like his normal self again, sitting up with the light of inspiration dancing in his eyes. “So, the piano, fix or sell?”

“Fix, I’d like to hear you play her, just once. I never got to.”

“Well, DS9 does have a holodeck…”

“Not the same and you know it. Holograms have a back noise only we can really hear.”

“Maybe, but finding a restorer will take time…”

“We don’t need money that badly.”

“We do if you want to buy a house, Julian!”

“You love this piano, and you want to keep it, so don’t sell it just because bad things happened to it. It's part of its history now, just another story the piano has to tell.”

“Maybe, but if Shavi dies, I won’t be able to look at that thing or touch it ever again.”

Julian realized this was the first time Songbird had admitted that Shavi was probably not going to live much longer with her Rot. Not unless she went into intensive surgery and therapies now, and never returned to travelling again.

He doubted she would.

“Let’s send Garak, Ziyal and Jake a message, asking them to join us at Quark's for breakfast. I think a good first step to making Garak come with us to Bajor is to get those two in on it.”

Songbird squealed and jumped with his PADD to get dressed. Better that the invitation came from Songbird, from the standpoint of talking concert business, since Julian was not sure he was willing to concede the battle between him and Garak just yet.

He thus realized...he hadn’t even seen Garak in private since coming back to the station, and barely talked to him in his store.

_And I want to buy a house with him? Convince him to marry me? Dammit I want him in my life! Dax is right, I really have been in denial._

Well, there was only one way to find out.

\-----------

When his morning started, Garak was in good spirits. Now he found his feet were almost dragging him towards Quark’s that morning. Breakfast for him was usually taken with Odo. And it was usually taken in the Replimat. Why he had agreed to a morning meeting with Songbird and his two newest groupies he could not fathom.

_I’m probably a masochist. Yes, that must be it...or maybe something new in the water today. Have you been playing with the replicators again Songbird?_

If he was honest with himself, really honest, he had started that fight, and Songbird could have done worse than change the flavor of his tea, and hadn’t done anything since. Granted, Songbird had been really busy. But he was damned if he would just accept the musician’s presence in Julian’s life without doing his damned best to scare him off, as he had with Leeta and all those other silly ladies and rare gentlemen who had tried to take his place. He just had to find the wedge that would cleave the two soppy lovebirds apart. A real relationship wasn’t based on sex, or romance.

It was based on endurance. He would stay the course.

Deep Space 9 was bustling this morning with activity. O’Brien and his crew had been successful in attaching a warp sled to a Bajoran sublight ship, so now there were Bajoran militia all over the station, gossiping about their new warp drive capabilities. The ship’s name was _Boryhas,_ the Bajoran word for a ghost or a spirit, the kind that haunted houses and frightened children in fairytales, which seemed like an apt name for the first Bajoran battle ship that could travel faster than light.

Quark’s was thus rather more full of people than usual. Songbird waved at Garak from their table near his electric piano, barely visible in the crowd. The piano was the only way you could find him. It was an item which Garak currently found to be very distastefully decorated in all sorts of outlandish signs advertising Quark’s various forms of entertainment. Oh the levels that artists had to stoop to to make ends meet. He sympathized with Songbird’s plight. He had been forced to pedal Quark’s advertisements in his catalogues over the years, but he stopped at having a single sign on display in his shop, thank you very much.

Garak would have gone to the bar first to order his tea but he did a double take.

Julian Bashir was sitting with Songbird, looking nonchalant and damned beautiful in his blue and purple bajoran medical uniform. They were still alone, the younger couple of Jake and Ziyal hadn’t arrived yet. Garak braced himself for the battlefield and walked over to them, taking a moment to enjoy seeing _his_ Julian dressed up in the clothing _he_ had hand stitched for him, before taking the seat on his other side. 

Wrong move, it seemed that Julian had been planning for this, as he turned to smile at Garak, leaning forward to do what humans called ‘peck’ him on the cheek.

“Doctor!” Garak said, acting affronted by the kiss, whilst secretly being pleased. “Are you already drunk at this early hour?”

“He should be,” Songbird chuckled, not the least bit phased at all by this public display of affection by his spouse. He waved Ziyal and Jake over from where they had entered without Garak’s notice. “He’s thinking of getting married.”

“If only someone would ask me,” Julian said, barely looking down at his cup, looking over at Garak with a side glance.

He couldn’t have been. He really couldn’t have been suggesting…? Songbird was fingering his own wedding ring, with a nervousness that was at war with the smile on his face.

“What exactly are you inferring by that remark, Doctor?”

“Take a wild guess,” Julian said, and ‘pecked’ him again, right on his head ridge crest, like a butterfly kisses a flower.

And thus began one of the strangest weeks in Elim Garak’s life. 

\---------

“Do you have clearance?”

Felix Knightly looked up balefully at the security officer that was standing between him and the room he was hoping to enter. Unaware of anything beyond the nose on his face, he had to fumble with his PADD to bring up his clearance orders to pass to the guard.

“Fifty two units of holographic imaging data rods, four programming PADDs and two holo emitters,” the security officer looked him over, handed back the PADD and moved aside with a sigh, rolling his eyes. “Holo-writers.”

‘Bunch of perverts’ was the usual bit that followed that phrase, but it was unspoken this time. Felix was just relieved that he was allowed to access his supplies. If he was honest, most of his programs were probably going to be used for sexual endeavors, some less legal than others, only a few were specifically educational or professional programs. Commander Worf had asked for a retooling of an old Klingon training program that he felt could be a bit more immersive. He had wanted a Jem’Hadar enemy added to the list of those combatants available and Doctor Bashir had recommended Felix for the task.

_Happy to oblige…_

Quark had once again asked for upgrades and updates to his usual diversions, there was an educational program for Keiko for her kids and the kids of station residents. He also had a special follow up to his spy program for Doctor Bashir he thought that all the station residents would enjoy.

_Everyone’s gonna love Vic...if he ever gets there!_

The data rods were packed in twos and tens, side by side, in boxes based on order, all together in one large box with the rest of his supplies, that he hefted with ease, but which would give most other men a little trouble. 

_If any of these guys ever tried lifting this box...then again nobody realizes just how much isolinear rods weigh as a group. They should quantify them by volume, not units._

This security center protected valuable civilian owned items during travel stopovers, and Felix had not travelled this far in a very long time. Now he was tired. He had brought these rods through thirteen Federation checkpoints already, and he had several more stops to deliver his orders before he could take a break. The extra security was going to ruin his business before the Dominion ever invaded.

_I don’t get paid enough for this sort of thing…_

Writers like Felix usually delivered their orders using a shipping service, but the dominion had been targeting trade routes, and the civilian ships had been the most well protected vessels, with convoys of nearly thirty ships at a time travelling together with Starship protection.

Felix would have been the first one to tell them that even when fish travelled in schools, they could still fall prey to sharks.

_If the sharks show up, it won’t matter to them that the most I’ve ever done is fight off ninjas and secret agents in one of my holoprogram test runs. They will board the ships, and take prisoners, or just outright kill us all..._

He had to admit he was a paranoid conspiracist, someone who hated civilian travel, believing it was designed to control civilians and keep them away from the power and security accorded to the privileged members of Starfleet. Who the hell cared that the statistics showed Starships as the bigger losses during a protracted conflict? Give him a big beefy starship any day. Luxury and size at least made up for the risks. Civilian shuttles were claustrophobic tubes with warp sleds slapped onto their sagging bellies as needed. The whole design was damnably impersonal.

This morning he was lucky though. His shuttle was actually a cargo ship, which meant he would have more freedom to move around, and would probably be travelling with the crew up on the bridge. The _SS Xhosa_ was a beautiful Antares-class freighter ship with a flat design, and a tough weathered hull, and was piloted by a woman named Kassidy Yates. Bashir had recommended her ship for travel, so he’d booked her the moment he’d seen she was on his route. He had even set up an alert on his PADD to let him know when she would arrive.

Thus he approached the port where this ship was docked, and waited patiently in line for the crewman at the bottom of the gangplank to add his cargo to the manifest. It was one box, but the crewman had a bit of trouble lifting it, as he suspected.

“It's heavier than it looks,” he said, looking a little weirded out.

Felix was a small, 5’4 man, no more than 150 pounds, with curly blonde hair and no noticeable bulk to speak of. The man was probably wondering how he could carry something so...hefty.

“It does take a little getting used to. Nobody expects isolinear rods to weight this much. Lift with your hips, not your back…”

Captain Yates herself was on the gangplank, greeting the people getting on.

“Where are you headed?” she asked as he passed, the helpful crewman with his box following behind.

“Deep Space Nine is my final destination, but I have a few stops between here and there.”

“You might end up there first, if I get rerouted. But you’ll know when I do,” she winked at him, and he decided he liked this woman very much.

His holo-programs secured in the hold, his seat on the shuttle found, he finally had a chance to relax, and he pulled out a PADD to look at his messages as he waited for the convoy to get under way.

There were three messages. One was from his mom, asking him to be careful while he travelled. One was from the Holo-Programmers Trade Guild once again asking for membership dues, and requesting donations. The Guild newsletter was once again full of front page news about the latest updates in Doctor Zimmerman’s disappearance. Felix secretly cheered for Doctor Bashir’s successful asylum application. The holo-programmers guild and holo-designers and writers in general were all petitioning Bajor now to change their minds.

_Mindless hoards of sycophants. Worship Zimmerman all you want...you have no idea who he really is, what he’s really about...arrogant delusional...huh…?_

The last message made him start for a moment, then look around. The crew was still mostly in the back, taking cargo on board, and chatting with the passengers. Only the navigator was still on the bridge with him, and Felix swallowed hard, before opening the message and beginning to input the complex series of glyphs needed to access the message.

The message, thus freed from security, opened and Felix found himself staring at the contents at a loss.

_Tempest - I have left and am en route. Schedule C will now commence. - Dreamer._

Felix shivered a little, feeling the cold in more than one way as the crew members started to trickle their way back on board. He brought up the PADD’s digital keyboard and sent a quick message of confirmation, before sealing everything up with the glyphs and signing out of the message system. Thus complete, he handed the PADD to a crewman, pretending that it was one that belonged to them, hopefully the crew wouldn’t notice.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Surprised by the offer, and a little too paranoid to be polite and take the glass he knew he needed, he instead thanked the man and waved off the water he offered, before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes to get a bit of rest. 

He was thus waiting this way, for the ship to leave, when two shadows fell over him and he opened his eyes.

Two large security officers were standing over him, and Kassidy Yates was giving him the most sincerely apologetic look from behind them that he could not in any way feel angry at her for letting them on board.

“Felix Knightly?” said one of the brutes. “You’re going to have to come with us.”

“Is something wrong sirs?” Felix acted nonchalantly, but inside his mind was racing.

“We’ve been directed to put you on a different ship.”

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!_

“One going to Deep Space 9 I should hope? I have orders to fill…”

“I’ll deliver them,” Yates said, “ _No_ charge.”

The guard gave her a glowering look as Felix stood to his feet.

“Very well, Captain,” he looked over at Yates as he buttoned his sweater. “Tell them, when you get there, tell my friends, I’m the first they took.”

“All right that’s enough,” said the guard, shoving him.

Yates gave him a strange look, not understanding, but he couldn’t say anything further, the guard just pushed him along the gangplank down the crowded walkways towards the shuttle that he knew was headed for Colony 53.

He wasn’t going to go down without a fight. The guards were thus startled when he dropped his body and swung his legs in a sweeping kick, downing them both, before he began his run.

It was a calculated risk. Would they shoot him fatally or simply stun him? A fatal shot in a civilian port would draw too much attention. But he was willing to take the risk that he had just made himself a martyr.

It was a stun. He came down, but struggled and fought the arms that pulled him up and dragged him to the ship. He wasn’t strong, his enhancements were mostly mental, but he was strategic. This small incident would not pass the notice of the news service.

Or anyone who knew what to look for in the news. He hoped Yates would be able to deliver the message. He hoped she would understand.

He would not become a nameless faceless victim of a much larger conflict. He was the Tempest, that storm that signaled to the players that action would now commence.

Act one had at last begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus 'Tempest' has been revealed. If you have been paying attention you already know who 'Dreamer' is.
> 
> In my mind Felix treats his PADDs like burner phones. If you do something dodgy on it, you drop it somewhere and it becomes someone else's problem. As a conspiracy theorist he has probably gone through a billion PADDs.
> 
> Felix never actually appeared on the show and was only mentioned. I took the last name given to him in one of the pocket novels about the series. But his appearance I made up. It always interested me that Julian Bashir had a friend who wrote holo-programs. I'm a writer, so naturally a writer character would interest me, prepare to see more of Felix in the future.


	11. Covert Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: minor fixes made. :3

The evening lights of Starbase 211 were glowing across the silver walkways, and Sala Gabriel straightened reflexively to the changing of light levels, anxiety creeping up her spine. The security shift changes for this starbase happened with the phases of an Earth day; sunrise, noon, sunset, midnight, and these shifts in station time were indicated by these changing lights, sometimes well before the alerts themselves went over communication systems, if they did at all. It was becoming instinct to increase or decrease her defensive instincts when the light levels changed. Forget the fact that she was wearing security red herself, and was patrolling in a very public location on her assigned route as part of said security shift, she still felt tense.

_Get yourself together girl, nobody you know is here...this is your station now._

She had every reason to be tense. She was not the woman the people here thought she was. Her name wasn’t Martha Jones, and if anybody recognized where the name Martha Jones had actually come from, they might put two and two together that she was a fake. She almost felt bad for selecting that name, but she had been told to pick a fictional character that was obscure and did not already exist in the Starfleet personnel records, or Nakamura would not help. He had been very eccentric in life, and very very paranoid.

So she had gone over every single regular crew member’s file of this station before choosing it for her posting, and she had cross referenced the crews of all the ships that came here regularly before picking her name, thanks to the _Cairo_ 's logs. It was important that this was a station in the thick of things, people who needed to contact her could reach her easily through the usual supply routes, but that also meant that her chances of a ship arriving with someone who knew her on board was unusually high as well.

Still, the records Nakamura had forged for her, the ID, even the medals for service attributed to her new ‘record’, were all airtight. She could literally return to Earth and walk about freely if she wanted to. And if she needed to leave this posting, she could reassign ‘Martha’ somewhere else, and nobody would be any the wiser, with her taking up the name again if she needed to hide again. Her new hairstyle and the shiny ensign rank pips on her collar were enough that she would not be mistaken for her old self; granted she had worn a lieutenant’s rank and pips before she had abandoned her duty to liberate Captain Morgan. Which was probably why he had suggested the code name she had been using...

 _‘Angel: You will be the first person to meet any of our contacts. Try not to use real names, even in public communications. Use the code names. It represents a kind of a courage that is not well understood these days, save for places like Bajor, where code names were used by their resistance so that they could not be tortured into giving away the identity of others. Are you surprised I would equate us with Bajorans? It does us no good to judge others by race alone. I screened every Faction member thoroughly before accepting their membership, but I want you to learn that it isn’t just genetically engineered_ **_human_ ** _strength and intelligence that we will need for this undertaking. To grow power, you must yoke the power of others. It's time to practice your social skills. - Ultraviolet_

She opened the PADD she was carrying again to reread the letter Morgan had sent her, despite having memorized every word. It made her look busy, and it was a comfort to have the actual text in front of her to contemplate. But the missive was damnably clear. She had never been very good at hiding her prejudice for non-humans, which was probably why she had been stuck as a junior-lieutenant for as long as she had been. Now, she had to worry that she was soon going to be meeting a non-human ally. Having allies that weren’t human, and thus would not draw any suspicion, was absolutely vital.

Her feet found their usual way around the station, back towards the public eateries, where she was expecting to meet her next contact. She turned over her wrist watch, and noted that her opal gem at the one o’clock mark was dark, save for the soft glow of diffused light that allowed the watch to be viewed in the dark. She had been delivering these watches to their new owners very carefully; one at a time they had arrived at the station by shuttlecraft or transport, all with their own pre-made excuses for being there, most were naturally transferring to their next assignment, right on schedule. She was, literally, the first Faction member most of them had ever met in person, so it was important to reassure them as they voiced their concerns, to be the _reason_ they would stay the course. So far they had been willing, and had accepted the watches. But could they go the distance? She needed to know. Were they willing to come out of the shadows into the light?

She was literally their Angel, delivering the Word of God from on High. It was both sacrilegious and thrilling at the same time.

She was having good luck, and hoped to remain lucky. The contacts had all been very warm and friendly, making sure to act as if they were old friends, to call her ‘Martha’ in front of the crew, and knew her only as ‘Angel’ in private. And their code names were just as interesting as hers. No real names were ever used, even if they recognized her, though she was sure no one had.

‘Scarlett’ had sat down with her in the mezzanine with a cup of coffee and a ton of gossip from Earth, mostly about Nakamura’s sudden suicide and the resulting strange behavior of the Admiralty and President Jaresh-Inyo. The silence that had followed the admiral’s death belayed the sudden upswing in new security postings at all space stations. Neither of them discussed the news from Bajor, that was asking for trouble with the number of officers around, and Sala was severely certain that Scarlett was way too wary to discuss ‘their’ business openly.

Scarlett had conventional beauty that had carried her from one starbase posting to another, mostly in the arms of some higher ranked officer, and she had ambition in spades. She was more than eager, and damned thirsty to prove her value to the cause. She would get that chance. It was ironic too that she now had the ruby wristwatch given her codename. Maybe Ultraviolet had planned it that way.

‘Jeeves’ had been quite passive and amiable, and she could sense that he was sterile, despite his being a genetically engineered human. Born on Moab IV, Jeeves had been one of the young people who had decided to leave the colony when Enterprise had made contact with his people. He had been quite forthcoming with information about his world; a colony of augments, but each augment was designed only for a specific purpose. In fact, one person changing their minds about their purpose, one person leaving, could uproot the whole planet. A lot of people had left on the _Enterprise_ , and somehow the remaining populace had been able to coast along. They had been colony bound for so long, without starships, or exploration, or contact with other worlds, or access to other forms of minerals or ores…an easy target for new ideas and new ways of thinking. Jeeves was more than willing and ready to serve, and to him had gone the emerald watch.

Thistle and Clover were a couple, and they had been a lively pair, the man gesturing wildly, describing the space stations he had been to and the ships he’d been on, the woman looking quietly approving and not the least bit embarrassed by her eccentric other half. They’d taken the sapphire and rose quartz watches with them when they’d left, and Sala decided that she had rather liked them both.

In fact, she was surprised that she had found herself liking all the Faction members she had met with. She’d been planning on cooperating with them the way she had always cooperated with people in her crew. But the distance had always been there, the inability to make the personal connection that people called ‘friendship’. Maybe this was what Morgan had been talking about when he’d been telling her to be more social.

The end of her shift came exactly as she predicted, with the final announcement over the speaker system of the sunset hour, and she walked over to the replicators in the central eatery to grab a coffee and a cinnamon bun. She felt like she had done a lot of good work that month, she had no reason to be nervous.

Her seat by the viewport gave her an expansive view of the ship that had docked that morning. She admired the impressively small shuttles next to its gargantuan battle battered hull and sighed.

_The big ships make the most impact...on one another…_

She was thus watching the ships this way, uncaring about the world around her, when she was suddenly taken off course by her next contact. He had almost come out of nowhere.

“Angel?”

She lifted her eyes, and their eyes met in a sudden, unexpected and alarmed moment of personal recognition. These eyes were definitely _not_ human...they were both empty and soulful at the same time, intelligent and strange. A moment of time passed where she didn’t speak, it seemed almost too long, and he was standing there, just standing there...

Then she smiled, a big toothy grin that broke all the barriers.

“ _Darling!_ It's been years!”

And she stood to her feet and gave the man a big generous hug. Accepting the cue he hugged her back, and they sat and began chatting...like old friends picking up an old conversation.

_Yoking the strength of others...now I understand what you meant, Sam. Now I understand._

\-------

Doctor Beverly Crusher sat back in her seat in the waiting room of Starfleet Medical, feeling bereft. Her eyes followed the throngs of people going back and forth outside the window on the street, meeting up with their friends, crewmates, family, and in one rare case, an ambassador from a planet looking rather tired as he and his delegates left Starfleet Medical. She had been in the foyer earlier when the pale looking elderly Deltan had entered with a complaint about a missed meeting, and he now left looking even less than satisfied.

Beverly was just as frustrated. She could feel her depression creeping up her spine back into her brain as she recalled the near-disaster that had been her petition that morning to Starfleet Medical.

At least her petition hadn’t been outright denied, yet.

It had helped that Doctor Jean O’Connor of the _Farrgut_ had been with her, Doctor P’Ton of the _Ulysses_ and of course, Doctor Nicholas Gordon of the _Cairo_ , all of them taking a calculated risk that they wouldn’t be needed during the downtime as their ships all had a secondary doctor to take over their duties. The other doctors in the petition had been unable to join them, but were there virtually, watching via viewscreen or audio teleconference. It was not a small group, but not huge, it was sizable enough to be of some notice in medical circles, especially with the former head of Starfleet Medical herself making the petition.

But the four of them had not ignored the severe absence of their fifth main supporter, who was meant to be there with them. The lack of Doctor Julian Bashir, who had co-authored the petition with her, outlined its aims and goals, and whose name had to be removed from the final draft, was painful, to all of them. He had thought of things none of them had even considered, and the bill of changes they were petitioning for was the largest change to Starfleet Medical requested in over 80 years. It was older than its oldest supporter, and Doctor P’Ton had added a great deal of support for this ‘omnibus’ bill of sorts by adding his own list of changes to the way Vulcan medicine and Starfleet Medical had become segregated, crippling Vulcan’s medical system from the lack of resource support. They had been slowly overtaken by Starfleet and thus, the lack of independence had become hard to ignore. It was obvious why a dogged advocate for keeping the Vulcan Medical Institute separate from Starfleet Medical was asking for independent oversight.

But without the primary supporter of her cause, her opponents had a damning point against the bill’s authorship. How could their petition stand up when one of its writers was no longer a Federation citizen, no longer in Federation space, with outstanding charges waiting his return? Would this bill even be trusted? Would they bring up his absence in the hearing?

All four petitioners had entered the room, and waited for the group of doctors, advisors and Starfleet Medical brass to assemble before coming forward with their petition. The head of Starfleet Medical already looked bored to be there.

Fortunately, they had not brought up Bashir at all, perhaps for lack of time. With over 200 requested changes in her bill, most of them related to how Starfleet control over Starfleet Medical was limiting and potentially dangerous to the well being of the Federation and allied worlds, it took a very long time to argue every point in the bill. Most were considered, recognized, understood to be a problem, but were considered to be too small a problem to deal with now. The Dominion was a large problem. Was now really the time to shakeup the way Medical dealt with things?

“Now is the perfect time!” O’Connor had argued passionately. “These weaknesses provide points of attack in our system, and weaken us in a time when we need to be stronger! The old ways aren’t working!”

Her passion was almost too much, as people looked mostly annoyed by her, or at least that was how it seemed to Beverly. Each problem was struck down, one after another, and she could feel the mood of the room shifting from concern, to outright amusement, and underlying mockery of the four of them. During the recess P’Ton had recommended withdrawing and revising the bill, rather than having it struck down and having to resubmit it again at a much much later date.

But Doctor Bashir had told her the destruction of such a huge bill would bring a lot of attention to it in the media, they could still revise the bill, and then they could gain much more support in the form of the civilians who would be affected positively by the changes they were suggesting.

But this sort of thing could take years. The censorship of Starfleet Medical legal hearings at the petitions stage was also included as one of the necessary changes in her bill.

_If ordinary people had been allowed to know about this before we got here...Starfleet Medical would have to approve it because people have been overwhelmingly asking for all of this in one form or another. This closed court is just censorship disguised as the bureaucratic process..._

After a bill was struck down or supported, then the public news service could report on it, which would help it gain more support as it moved up through the ranks to the Executive branch, voted on, and finally signed by the President. Since civilians had no say in the bill at this early stage, Starfleet Medical preferred to be discreet.

Right now, her group was just petitioning Starfleet Medical. Petitioning the Federation Council and the member worlds would be a different beast altogether. They needed support from a large number of member worlds to put the bill forward for a vote. Usually the Presidential race would be the best place for changes to Starfleet Medical to be discussed, as a political point.

Beverly hated that. Medicine should not be controlled by the President or the Military, it should have been for the people, by the people, in the first place. The Federation Medical Council was not in the Executive branch of the Federation government. Starfleet medical was still under the auspices of Starfleet, and independent medical groups were under various branches of the Federation government, all a mish-mash of groups…

 _‘In reality,’_ Bashir had told her as they had written the bill. _‘We should be seeking to create an executive medical branch of the Federation, under its own oversight, and an umbrella under which Starfleet Medical and other groups would exist. But it would take Presidential support to make that happen…This is a good first step…get the reasons why Starfleet Medical isn’t an Executive branch out of the way. Executive status will be just a stepping stone after that, really...’_

Beverly Crusher had missed Bashir’s overwhelming confidence in the bill, and maybe his confidence had been carrying her until this point. Her enthusiasm was almost gone completely.

She was surprised when, in a quiet corner of the waiting room, a man approached her, smiling.

“Doctor Crusher,” he grinned at her, the warm brown eyes, the red hair, in a widow’s peak, the even white teeth, the freckles. “You haven’t quit yet have you?”

“Ethan Locken,” she smiled warmly and reached out to accept the hug he offered. “Were you in the hearing?”

Doctor Locken was a brilliant medical researcher, who had likely been feeling the pinch of supplies as resources had all been bulked up onto Starships for the frontlines. His own, anonymous, addition to the bill had been to ask her about resource support from allied worlds during conflicts such as this, especially from worlds that had plenty to give. He had stopped short of joining the list of petition signatories himself, probably due to his rather public work in a controversial realm of medicine, DNA re-sequencing. Not the most popular field of research right now, in the media.

Or really, ever, if she was honest with herself. Re-sequencing microorganisms and viruses to cure illness and repair damaged ecosystems was a far cry from making Augment super soldiers to take over the planet. 

“I was there. I tend to go unnoticed, despite, well,” he bent his head a little, indicating his, their, shared hair color, with a laugh. “I hope you aren’t swayed by the naysayers in the room to withdraw, just when I’ve decided to support your cause.”

Her heart lifted to its rightful place, and she brought him over to meet the other petitioners and he discussed with them the future of the bill.

“It will get turned down, and then you will have another uphill battle just getting permission to petition again this session. I have an alternate suggestion...”

By the time the recess ended, she was been feeling much more confident about the petition. It showed, really, as she reached the podium, and searched the group for Doctor Locken’s face in the crowd to steel herself to the coming storm, and activated the vocal enhancer on the podium.

“I would like to now request an extended recess of this petition, in order to submit the petition points to an experimental trial. I hope to prove that the changes in this bill indicated can have a positive impact on the daily practices of Starships, space stations and planetside hospitals.”

There was a lot of work to be done after that, but when put to a vote Ethan Locken supported her, actually a fair number of people, and the vote was split almost entirely halfway in her favor, just one vote over the needed number, but it was enough.

“We’ll grant an extended recess in order to put the petitioners bill to an experimental trial, so that they may prove the benefits of the petition they are putting forth. We set the due date for completion of the trial to December 1st. We’ll set a due date of September 30th for applications of volunteers to participate in the trial by Starfleet medical facilities and Ships.”

Doctor Crusher and her group thanked the council, and hugged one another in relief that they could continue going forward. Even P’Ton had accepted a stiff hug from O’Connor. But when she turned around to search the room for her secret supporter, Ethan Locken had already gone.

_Bless that man...if he hadn’t come along, we'd be looking at defeat right now._

She hoped that he would volunteer for the trial. She needed support from everyone she could get.

\------------

Doctor Ethan Locken found his feet on a familiar path after re-materialization, and he adjusted to the new route instantaneously. The Memorial Archive in London was a beautiful modern building...though its true purpose was lost on many. His eyes moved along glass and steel and concrete, taking in the usual to and fro of personnel and people who made use of this facility as he passed them, knowing his route so well he could navigate to his destination with his eyes closed.

Literally, blindfolded, he could find his way, having been here during blackout drills in which the facility had been pitch black. Helped by the fact that his world had shrunk down to the dimensions and air volume of the spaces in this place as he was undergoing recruitment into the secret organization whose existence was literally just a few levels below the ground but most humanity was unaware of.

He nodded to the security officer guarding the lift before standing in front of the iris scanner and entering. This lift was in need of some cheering up. Some paintings, or maybe nice music. It was tiny, permitted one person at a time, and felt like a coffin.

But it was the fastest route into Section 31, and thus he arrived almost directly in front of Luther Sloan’s office, feeling his chest tighten at the sight. This man was everything he did not like about Section 31, and himself, but could not help but admire. A man driven to protect what he loved, at any cost, and who had gone to great lengths to get where he was as director of Section 31. And smug as all hell.

Unfortunately, Locken didn’t have time for his usual greeting as he entered the man’s office, barely noticing the other agent on Sloan’s right, a man with a dour complex who was constantly complaining. His name was Rammers, and he had a very ugly way of killing women he was assigned to assassinate, in order to make it look like a random crime. Locken hated him as a matter of course just for that fact. And Rammers clearly hated him back, but for the sole reason that Locken was not a normal human. He was a highly advanced augmented human being, and as such he was _persona non gratas_ with everyone in this organization but a few people, including Sloan.

Sloan was the only one who mattered. Rammers immediately started glaring at Locken the minute he entered.

“How did it go?” said Sloan, not noticing the silent war of minds going on in his presence.

It wasn’t much of a war. Locken was the clear superior to Rammers, taking the desk by sitting on it in a way that would keep Sloan’s eyes on him and away from the assassin.

“It went well,” Locken said. “The bill is now in a voluntary trial period. She has to prove its effectiveness in order to finish her petition.”

“And you’re certain this will kill it faster than just a rejection?”

“If it had been rejected, and its rejection had become public, Crusher would have been able to rouse public support for her cause, and resubmit it. As it is, she must keep the trials limited to Starfleet facilities and on a volunteer basis.”

“I don’t see how this helps?” Rammers said with a half-snarl. “It still exists. You promised it would be buried and never see the light of day.”

Locken turned his head to look at Rammers with distaste.

“Crusher only has until September to raise the numbers of volunteers for a proper trial, and then only a couple of months for the trial to be completed. Not much time. I have calculated that in that time Starfleet will have assigned more than half our fleet to the frontlines, and none of them will be able to participate in this voluntary trial. Without the numbers, she’ll get mixed, or poor results. And I don’t anticipate her opponents will just sit around waiting, they’ll mount an aggressive campaign of their own to prove the soundness of Starfleet Medical procedure and to destroy her reputation, and the reputations of her teammates. She’s all on her own out there.”

“We should just bury _her_ …”

“Now now, Rammers, Crusher is too important to just disappear unnoticed,” Sloan chuckled, used to, and rather amused by, the bloodthirsty man’s immediate solution of assassination. “How many volunteers do you think she’ll get?

“If she’s lucky, a few colonies, some of the petitioners on remote missions, _Ulysses_ for certain, Vulcan will participate, they participate in every voluntary trial as a matter of curiosity. I’d say eight ships, fourteen colonies, twelve space stations, and Vulcan, maybe Betazed, potentially Risa and some of the smaller safer worlds.”

“That many?” Rammers was genuinely startled.

“It’s not that many,” Sloan said, still smiling. “Compared to how big the fleet is.”

“Betazed would be the most difficult, and it depends on the Ambassador’s opinion of Starfleet medical, and I haven’t asked her yet. She complains about how hard my mind is to read, it's hard to hide from a Betazoid, especially _that_ one.”

“Don’t try,” Sloan chuckled. “We don’t need to know what she’s thinking that desperately, and we have Betazoids of our own to handle her. As I said, it's not a lot of volunteers even with Betazed, compared to the sheer number of ships in the fleet, and much of Cusher’s bill is tied into resource reallocation amongst the entire fleet. I think you’re right. I think she’ll misstep and have to rethink, unable to give her bill a proper test in the time given, and we can kill the bill entirely with the next Presidential race.”

“Unless Jaresh-Inyo wins a second term,” Locken warned. “He’s a resolute people pleaser.”

“Jaresh-Inyo is not the type of President we want…” Sloan said immediately. “If you can do anything to...make him step down, then we’ll have a clear path for our guy to the head of the Federation at the next election.”

“It might take some time,” Locken admitted, thinking quietly of the Starships he would have to travel on to get where he needed to go next. “It doesn’t help that my people are being hunted down all over the Alpha Quadrant right now. My normal contacts are afraid to communicate. Think you can do something about it?”

“Novos is loud,” Rammers grumbled. “And people pay attention to loud people. We can’t go against him.”

“Well, Rammers,” Locken got up off the desk, ending the meeting with this action. “It won’t take long until people like me respond to this...camp situation...and force him out. You might want to get there before we do.”

“How bad will the response be?” Sloan said, the only time the man had given him a serious, concerned look since his arrival. Probably due to the ‘people like me’ he had used, language was so subtle, but so important, in indicating loyalties. Sloan was an expert in this.

“It depends on how many are sent to the colony,” Locken said. “But even one who is well known and loved will provoke a response, it just has to be the _right_ one…”

Rammers clearly didn’t like this, giving him an ugly glare as he left. But Sloan nodded him off with a smile. Sloan wanted him, so he stayed, regardless of the great risk he presented.

 _I won’t have to deal with Rammers much longer,_ Locken decided. _I just need to control Sloan a little longer. Until then, I’m back on the hunt._

There was a holo-engineer out there, somewhere, waiting for him. Locken would find him, question him, and then this whole messy business would be properly…terminated.

And after that...he could finally focus his attention to more important matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ethan Locken is a character from one of the pocket DS9 novels involving Bashir, I decided bringing him more into the front a bit would be fun. I won't be bringing in every pocket novel, I just wanted to take advantage of the fact that authors in the novel universe of Star Trek have created augments as well, and I can't create all of them myself or I'll go loopy.
> 
> As for the Federation not having a medical agency at the executive branch, its true. I checked all the canon and novel resources on memory alpha and beta, how could the federation not have a Ministry of Health? Because health services have become a part of the Military or else they are small independent places. I think that suits my narrative as well.
> 
> Crusher's story was originally a part of this story, but I couldn't figure out how to tie the petition into the rest of the story. I think this intrigue knits her little quest more into the story quite nicely. :3


	12. Unity in Adversity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Minor edits

“You wanted to see me sir?”

Captain Benjamin Sisko looked up cautiously as Doctor Bashir entered his office, the purple uniform reminding him that Bajor had recently made some changes to the uniforms besides purple for medical (although, Kira said that their choice of purple and mustard for the nurses was causing Jabara to joke about getting a Doctorate.) Still it was a lovely regal color, the secondary color of navy blue for doctors giving them immediate distinction on the battlefield from nurses and support medical staff. Sisko had to hand it to Bajorans, sometimes the small pips of a Starfleet uniform were not immediately noticed by non-Federation worlds as having meaning. Leaders always had differentiated uniforms.

But he could tell immediately that Bashir was not used to his uniform, that he was still seeing himself as Starfleet. He stood awkwardly, at semi-attention, that way looked when he knew he was about to be lectured for some reason and didn’t know why. Or did he? It always seemed that the good Doctor just _knew_ why he was in trouble, like mind reading...

“Please sit Doctor,” Sisko wanted to disarm the man a little, in this exchange. Mostly to remind him that he was still the same Doctor on the same posting.

Well almost.

“I wanted to talk to you, about your husband.”

“It’s an hour until the concert sir…” Bashir looked positively unhappy to be having this conversation.

“The other one,” Sisko breathed hoarsely, and leaned forward on his hands. “The one you are going to be marrying as soon as you reach Bajor and find a house to move into…The one you lied to cover up the actions of...”

“Captain…” Bashir looked stricken. “I don’t…”

“You are NOT leaving as CMO,” Sisko knew he often looked like he could explode into a fury when giving these pep talks, and tried to level his voice. “You are not going to cover up another person’s actions any longer. And yes, Garak _needs_ citizenship now that his threats to Zimmerman are pretty much common knowledge...don’t argue with me on that point, gossip about your relationship falling apart during Doctor Zimmerman’s visit was likely going to lead to people putting two and two together. In fact,” Sisko leaned back with a sigh. “Nacheyev asked if it was true that the betting pool on Garak killing someone to protect your career really existed. She was stunned that it did, and really, the betting pools are not Garak’s fault, but that kind of reputation was bound to come back to hurt him one day.”

“He’s...been looking for a shop on Bajor somewhere,” Julian protested lamely. “Applied for citizenship multiple times and been rejected. I’m not marrying to cover up his actions or protect him from justice...I’ve always liked Garak.”

“I see…” Sisko clasped his hands together. “But you can marry Garak here, and protect him. Yet you also applied for a transfer to a Bajoran hospital, without consulting me! I won’t approve the transfer until you give me a very good reason why I should give up one of my best officers on the brink of war! And don’t tell me it's to protect Garak, you already have that situation well in hand. You’ve already destroyed your career protecting Garak!”

A moment passed, Bashir’s eyes were looking like he was going to cry. Sisko had brought many people under his command to tears, but not this person, and he briefly had regrets. The Doctor seemed to have decided against an emotional scene of any kind, instead he took a deep breath, stabilizing himself.

“No...I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to stop being the CMO of Deep Space 9, but...I can only see trouble by staying and protecting Garak. For you, for Starfleet, for Bajor. People like Zimmerman, he’s a very popular engineer, even if he’s mostly reclusive. There’d be a protest for me staying here, either way. And...and I feel like the research I’m about to undertake will make me a very unpopular person anywhere in Federation space. You need a CMO that isn’t going to cause everyone to hate you.”

“Research?” Sisko was actually confused. “What research?”

“Sir, I just recently witnessed my husband, uh...Songbird, fall apart in a way no person should have to fall apart, all because his surrogate mother is dying by inches by a disease that could be preventable in childhood with genetics. The hospital I’m transferring to is a genetics research facility. I can _help_ the Selelvians and others with genetic diseases under Bajoran law, I can contribute to the study of medicine that most Federation doctors are afraid to enter into for the negative connotations with augmentation. I already have the negative connotations so I have _nothing_ to fear.”

“You could just as easily work here as on Bajor…”

Bashir sighed.

“Yes. Well there’s another thing…”

“‘Another thing’?”

“Kai Winn.”

Sisko raised an eyebrow.

“I was wondering when she would be coming back into our conversation. You know now what she wants from you?”

Bashir nodded, and crossed his hands on the desk.

“She wants me to exhume the bodies at Pok Tal hospital. It belongs to the Vedic assembly under the auspices of traditional medicine and their children’s branch of charity work, and she wants someone familiar with genetic engineering to study what the Cardassians did there and prove, beyond all shadow of doubt, that illegal genetic experimentation was happening, even by Cardassian standards. Cardassia claims the hospital’s research was perfectly legal and no experiments occurred on children, against Bajor’s claims. So no reparations were made or formal apology given.”

“I see…And she wants you, rather than any other competent Bajoran doctor, to do the autopsies. You aren’t Starfleet anymore...”

“Captain,” Bashir swallowed. “To understand her reasoning for wanting _me_ to do this, we must look back a bit on history. Earth’s history of genetic engineering was the Eugenics wars. Fear of being overpowered by augmented supermen.”

“Kira and I were talking about that the other day. How humans still see augments as separate from human beings...not the same race.”

“Well, that differs from _Bajor_ ’s understanding of genetics,” Bashir’s eyes took on that dark deadly edge they took on whenever he was on the borderline of anger. “Kai Winn and the Bajoran Government claim the researchers there used children, Bajoran _and_ Cardassian orphans. This is against Cardassian law for genetic research. The Kai and her supporters in the government also claim that these experiments were designed to make Bajorans better slaves...and Cardassians better...well lets just say that a Vorta like devotion to the Cardassian Empire would be a different type of slavery entirely.”

“I see,” it was terrible to even think about. “So Bajorans would see the forced experiments when talking about genetics.”

“Yes, but more so it's about cruelty towards children,” Bashir’s teeth were hard on edge. “But the doctors I’ve spoken with here say that the facilities were moved to Bajor from Cardassia and may have been active for a long time before that on Cardassia Prime. They moved for…obvious reasons.”

“Out of sight, out of mind,” Sisko felt like he might be sick. “I’m sure Cardassians wouldn’t approve either, if experiments on children are illegal.”

“The experiments on Bajorans ended when the Occupation ended, or rather, the staff moved back to Cardassia, choosing to seal their work inside the buildings under layers of concrete and rock. Mostly to hide what they had done. Only the survivors who escaped the facilities remain as living witness to what happened, and they...Captain,” Bashir stiffened a little, and swallowed. “I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this, in my reports or any of our private conversations, but even the highest quality and most sophisticated forms of Genetic Enhancement can be...excruciatingly painful...to the subject. That’s why _embryos_ were _preferred_ during the 21st for creating Augments. I was...on _constant_ painkillers...unconscious for most of it, spinal cord numbed, and still was physically uncomfortable walking for two days afterwards, my skeletal structure and musculature completely reformed. This facility had none of that, no anesthetics... _nothing_ . Those that survived survived with _horrible_ malformations. Most are kept...as you said, out of sight, out of mind, by Vedeks in charity hospitals. Unable to live a normal life.”

Sisko sat backwards in silence. He let the horror of it wash over him.

“So Kai Winn wants you to…?”

“First, to exhume Pol Tal hospital, hopefully obtain records of all the children that were experimented on, and prove there were Cardassian patients...which would convince Cardassia to bring the perpetrators to justice and hopefully end the experiments on Cardassian children too. Or at least it would bring everything to light. Cardassians aren’t the only ones who want to keep this buried, there is considerable opposition from the Vedek Assembly and part of the Bajoran Council, who don’t want to stir the pot in the middle of this Dominion situation. Second, the Vedik Assembly and the Bajoran Medical Authority would like me to look at finding ways to treat those children who survived the experiments, so they can rejoin Bajoran society. I could then train Bajoran doctors to take over this work. But you know why Kai Winn wanted me…”

“Having personal experience means you’ll take it very seriously. Personally. Now I know why she picked you. That sounds like a horrible job, but I can see myself making the same decision, I can’t fault her for _wanting_ an Augment in charge. How long do you need?”

Bashir needed very little time to think. He had been planning for this for a while.

“A month, maybe two. She’s basically handed me the ownership of the hospital along with my _haj a kai_ title, and I can convert it into whatever kind of research facility I want once the other work is done, or I can have it condemned and build a new structure over it. But if you really want me back sooner...I would need staff to take over for me once my investigation is done. That means educational staff, people familiar with genetics research.”

Sisko could not begin to fathom what was going on in Doctor Julian Subatoi’s Bashir’s head at this moment. The haunted shadows of his description of the hospital and its patients was enough to make Sisko shiver in his seat. To unearth those shadows and expose them to the light took courage of a kind that he could only attribute to Doctors and Nurses.

“Whenever someone tells me that they had wanted to become a doctor, but chose a different profession, I always wonder what causes them to change? Is it the lack of nerves? The unwillingness to go into the worst case scenario in a holodeck simulation or test? Or do they just dislike the flesh and blood? And then I meet you, and wonder if Doctors are just a special type of person entirely that just know they were meant to be Doctors from birth.”

“It's the fear of failing,” Bashir shivered visibly, but he was also rubbing his arms. Sisko’s office was feeling a little bit colder. “I once asked a friend at Starfleet Academy why she changed majors, and she said that she was afraid to lose a patient because she couldn’t remember something from a lesson.”

“We’re only mortal, Doc, and can only do so much. I’m sure nobody wants to have a patient die.”

“My biggest fear is knowing how they died and knowing they _could_ have been saved,” Bashir confided. “That I could have done something if I had been there much sooner...had the right herb, or the research was sitting somewhere untouched. I want to help Selelvia, I really really do. They respect Federation law with genetics in desperation that we’ll do something to help them with our advanced technology...Well we haven’t done any real research on this illness in ages! I’m willing to help Kai Winn with her messy work, if I can do my research as a result.”

“And you’re sure you can help Selelvia?” Sisko wouldn’t let him take this risk on a gamble with no sure outcomes.

“Selelvian Rot isn’t curable once it's set in, and editing the genes of adults is even more dangerous than for children. But before birth? The Federation has _never_ done research in this area, not officially anyway, gene editing for birth defects that aren’t immediately fatal is considered eugenics, no ifs ands or buts about it. If the disease isn’t immediately fatal, then its a no. I’ve always felt this was _wrong_ ...As if, in our fear of going forward we’ve taken too many steps backward,” Bashir swallowed so hard it looked like he might choke. “So I want to do it...to do the research nobody else in the Federation will do, can do, to help Selelvia with this blight. While it's still legal to _do so_ on Bajor.”

“Well, I commend you doctor, for being willing to go to Bajor and climb right into that hell of a hospital, just to climb back out into another fresh hell with Selelvia. But just give me two weeks, three weeks, we’re shoving out to the DMZ tomorrow for our patrol support in place of the _Enterprise_. I don’t want to leave with Doctor Girani scrambling without a second doctor while I’m gone…”

“It's more like Hui will be scrambling without _her_ ,” Bashir winced. “I’m sorry Captain, he’s a good Doctor, the best Starfleet doctor on the station next to me, but really you would want Girani on your ship. Hui needs confidence, he is always asking if he’s doing all right, and asking questions I would expect from a first year medical student rather than a graduate. But his work is good, he knows what he’s doing...as long as someone is with him, reassuring him. It's like he has performance anxiety.”

“Maybe he needs his own space for a while to spread his wings,” Sisko opined, feeling his stomach sinking. “At any rate, I can only take Starfleet officers with me.”

“Maybe, but I have to say that I’ve been asking for better staff for years from Starfleet Medical. They were _fine_ having mostly Bajorans on this station, and I always remind them, Bajor’s medical community has mostly traditional Bajoran healing facilities and very few formal educational buildings and most of their doctors are trained on site, on active duty, thrown right out of the nest after one year of classroom training. I’m training my nurses in how to nurse the moment they arrive. Starfleet officers already _know_ how to nurse when they arrive. We need more teaching staff here if anything.”

“Kira said one of the reasons most Bajorans accept you as _haj a kai_ is because the Bajoran Medical Authority loves your educational programs so much.”

“I really wish they didn’t _need_ them that much, but I…”

Odo’s voice suddenly crackled over their combadges, interrupting the Doctor’s complaints.

“Captain Sisko, the concert is starting in fifteen minutes, and you are wanted on the Promenade.”

“Of course, I’ll be right there,” Sisko stood to his feet. “Two weeks Doctor, and then you can go to Bajor for as long as you need.”

“All right,” Bashir shook his hand. “Thank you sir. For understanding.”

Sisko understood alright. But Bashir was taking a lot of duties onto his shoulders in such a short time. He would have to have a word with Kai Winn as soon as he was able to get a few minutes with her alone.

_Julian may be walking openly into hell. But Kai Winn will catch fresh hell from me if she screws him over on this. She’s getting his support, so she better damn well return it._

\---------

Nerves could not even begin to describe his feelings as he stood behind the stage curtain with his crew, mostly just Jake and Ziyal, Garak, and Quark, who was taking over Shavi’s duties for her, to his own dismay. The number of Quark’s posters alongside his concert posters was nauseating but necessary, but this? This just felt like a personal assault. So did this outfit.

“I...I should be wearing some more color, jewelry…”

“Absolutely not!” Garak protested. “Its a one of a kind! I worked very hard to make ‘Unity’ sexy! Like you requested!”

“You look amazing!” Ziyal assured him, though he knew she was usually overly nice in her assessments so as not to offend.

“I think it could use more of a Ferengi touch,” Quark offered.

“Okay we’ll stick with this,” Songbird immediately countered, knowing what Ferengi fashion would probably do to his concert. “But...I don’t know...a bit more color…”

“You go on in five minutes,” Garak said, and looked personality indignant with Songbird’s protestations. “You spent the better part of a day telling me how excited you were to wear my clothes, buttering me up so I would go with you and the Doctor to Bajor…”

“And get married,” Ziyal giggled.

“And _maybe_ get married,” Garak admitted. “Yet you don’t seem to trust me! I assure you this is the latest fashion craze.”

“Where?” Quark retorted with a chuckle. “A strip club?”

Garak looked like he would strangle the Ferengi bartender. This told Songbird that at least Garak wasn’t bluffing about liking his own design. But Quark did have a point. The outfit he was wearing consisted mostly of bands of black and white fabric, wrapped around his legs and body and leaving little to the imagination, the two colors merging and blending in the fabric that covered his torso, creating the ‘Union’ that he had wanted with the theme of this show.

He’d be wearing this costume for the first half of his show, then putting on something else with more covering during the intermission for the second set, but he still felt practically naked. He had always been flashy, but he had always been fully clothed. This was a new feeling to him.

“You look really good,” Jake insisted, and that helped him feel a little more relieved. Jake was a very honest type. “This will pop on stage with all the lights out and that...oh we have to go, that’s our cue!”

Someone had called for quiet outside, mostly Odo, and Sisko, and Songbird felt stage fright, for the first time ever in his life.

“Am I late?” Julian suddenly appeared backstage, and then looked him over. “My god, you are damned sexy. Garak this had better not fall off, I want to see what’s under there, but not in front of everyone else.”

Garak got an intense look in his eyes. Songbird wondered if it was due to his wanting to have everyone see, or due to his...wanting to be there when Julian was unwrapping him.

The thought suddenly emboldened him in ways he had never thought possible. He wrapped his arms around the Cardassian tailor’s neck and kissed him, fully, on the mouth.

Julian had to stifle his laughter at the horror on Garak’s face and then pulled Songbird away to get a kiss of his own.

“You give them hell,” said the sly clever man he’d married, and dragged the choking and protesting Garak off front stage to the ‘vip’ seating in the first row, where Sisko and the rest of the command staff would be waiting.

All alone on the stage, he waited for his pre-recorded music to start, music he had composed, and readied himself to sing. The lights dropped...the curtains rose, and the world melted away with the first strains of the flutes, from some far off green and blue orb called Earth.

“Unity,” he breathed, both to test the mic, and to start the show.

_But not just Earth and Bajor...no...this is how our journey began._

And thus Songbird began to tell them, in music and verse, just how beautiful and special this space station really was.

\---------

Julian was feeling his whole world shifting as he watched his lover launch into the hauntingly and unearthly, inhuman sorrow and loving beauty that was the entry chorus and aria called ‘Unity’. Spell binding, hypnotic, with words in Federation Standard and Bajoran, the song wove itself together, a weaving of the words of two worlds, and the music, oh he recognized the instruments, the panpipe from Earth and the Bajoran _tivara_. The music would have kept them all trapped in its sorrowful beauty if percussion instruments from both worlds hadn’t broken in and Songbird began chanting. To Julian’s utter delight, the Bajorans in the crowd chanted, recognizing the poem he was chanting. The chant built up onto a fiery crescendo and then Songbird began the chorus, returning to the Unity lyrics of before but this time at a tempo that was wild, frenzied, warning, cautionary, instead of encouraging unity, he was warning against losing the unity, and the whole floor was vibrating with the stomping of people’s feets and the clapping of their hands. People were singing along and people were crying. Songbird sang and danced on stage and screamed out into the crowd and gasped out and the whole room would have been brought up into a writhing frenzy and then…

Silence...a sudden stop...and for a moment only that pipe and that _tivara_ were playing again...then the last breathed syllable.

“Unity.”

Silence. A silent pause. Julian couldn’t breath.

Not a person stayed in their seat. As a mass the promenade was in full ovation, thousands of people clapped and jumped as Songbird bowed and smiled and greeted the crowd.

“Thank you! Thank you everyone! Welcome to Deep Space 9! I hope you’re all in a mood to have a great time tonight, I’m just getting warmed up.”

Julian took a breath, and another, and realized he was on his feet too, and Garak was wincing because he was crushing the man’s hand.

“My dear Doctor, it was amazing, but I would like to be able to feel my fingers…”

“Sorry, sorry…”

But Garak’s eyes were also dancing, wild and wet and a little awed. It wasn’t just him, but Bashir now realized he had heard the quiet refrain of a Cardassian repetitively timed drum in the background during the chanting. It had been almost not there, as a half-forgotten memory, but now it was coming back to his mind.

There would be no Unity for Bajor and the Federation without Cardassia. It was there in the song, if anyone had noticed it.

Julian looked around again. Dax was delighted, and the second curtain, behind Songbird, rose, revealing his usual work piano. The red piano was still needing repair.

“Oh good, he’s going to play himself as well,” she said, looking like she had been looking forward to that.

He didn’t want to tell her that all the pre-recorded instruments were played by Songbird as well, even if they had been replicated instruments. He would save that for later when he could see the expression on her face.

The first few strains of what Julian recognized as the Tierkran and Irish flute ballad Songbird had composed on Parliament began filling the room, a lively, but less house rousing song of love and romance, mostly in Gaelic, though it was still translated for them. That he was singing the original language was enough to get the intent of the music through.

“They should have turned off the translators…” Garak muttered, and Julian could see him trying to manually adjust his combadge with his fingers in the dark to dampen the translation field around himself. Julian reached over to help him.

And there was no end...a beautiful winding composition of both Klingon and Terran operatic harmonies made the meat of a love aria composed clearly for Dax and Worf, a story about two people who should not be afraid of being from different worlds, the unity from the opening would still endure. Another song followed, cold and painful, about a child whose piano was smashed into red pieces across the floor. Julian mentally winced. Anyone else would have thought he composed this for the red piano in their quarters, but the red piano in Songbird’s mind was the tiny toy piano that a three year old autistic boy had once called his own. And just before the end of the first set, before the intermission, Songbird had a surprise for them all.

Ziyal came up to stand beside him with her own microphone. She had shaking hands.

“This is a song that I wrote as a duet, with the help of a friend,” Songbird said, winking towards the crowd. “I was grateful that Ziyal volunteered to sing with me, please give her a round of applause!”

A stir of beloved clapping followed, and Dax leaned over next to Julian.

“Jake, did you know?” she asked in a whisper.

“No, I didn’t,” the youth was still watching Ziyal intently from his place next to Garak.

Julian sat back, and Ziyal began her first shy words.

The song was in Terran and Kardassi. A song about betrayal, about finding strength in a stranger, a lover from a strange world, falling apart and falling in love and falling back together. It was a love song for a very _specific_ couple.

 _Oh...my...god..._ Julian felt Garak’s fingers tighten around his hand, and he turned to look at the man, who winked, mirroring Songbird.

It was their song. _Garak_ had been composing this with Songbird. For _him_.

“A stranger walked into my life,” sang Songbird in English, with a pointed British lilt. “And walked back out with my heart,” Ziyal sang in return in _Kardassi_ , and the chorus of the song slipped into the musical refrain and denouement.

Everyone was now looking where the couple on stage was looking, mics by their sides, at the two of them, and Garak pulled something out of his pocket, and put it around his wrist. A Bajoran bracelet.

“Will you marry me?” Garak said, asking him in Federation Basic, and Julian felt his laughter and tears were enough of an answer as he wrapped his arms around the Cardassian man and kissed him.

“I thought you already were engaged?” Dax teased, and there was a lot of clapping and laughter and Songbird and Ziyal joined in the clapping. “Julian proposed to you the Cardassian way by telling you that you were getting married.”

“Yes, but it was annoying,” Garak moaned, and Julian put his arm around his new fiance. “I was going to be the one to tell _him_.”

“Really though,” Julian teased. “Did you have to propose to me in the Terran way to get back at me? This was ridiculously corny!”

“It was Songbird’s idea…”

“Hey hey can we get one more round of applause for Ziyal now before we head off for intermission?” Songbird said over the mike, interrupting them probably at the best time.

Everyone clapped and cheered for the smiling young woman, and Jake got up to join her by the stage and kiss her, and tell her how beautiful she was…

Julian was no longer able to pay attention. A Cardassian tailor with very talented hands was making circles around his palms with his thumbs and pressing his face into his neck.

“Can we go somewhere quiet for a moment…?”

“Your shop?” Julian opined, really wanting to just get the man naked...but knowing that was probably not going to happen...yet.

“Certainly…but Doctor?” Julian was still grinning at him and Garak just sighed. Songbird had been right about a cheesy musical marriage proposal and he was never going to let Garak forget it. “Never tell a Cardassian you are going to marry him. It's _his_ job to tell _you_! It implies...well...certain status in society depending on who is asking who.”

“I promise I’ll do better to consult you on Cardassian marriage traditions from now on. Besides, I don’t plan to marry anyone else.”

“Thank goodness for that!”

\------

A concert was taking place on the Promenade. The place was packed and she couldn’t have had worse timing, since everything was shut down until the concert ended and the staff were free to return to their duties for the midnight shift.

 _I’m missing a damned good concert I bet,_ Kassidy Yates mentally complained, and turned to her second officer, Brathaw. “Hail them, see if Ben will let us dock with the station so we can join in the fun. I don’t mind paying for standing room…”

“Just a moment Captain,” said Brathaw. “I’m sending the hail, but there’s interference. Must be some audio show they are putting on.”

“It’s not the concert…” said her first, Nickson. “The audio signal of the entire station is being jammed.”

“By what…?”

They barely had a moment’s notice as a Klingon bird-if-prey suddenly uncloaked itself and began firing upon the station.

“Evasive maneuvers! Get inside the shields out of firing range!” 

“I’m trying Captain, our sensors are being blocked!”

“I thought the Klingons were our allies again?”

The station was now firing on the warship, and the shields rose up to surround the _SS Xhosa_ and pull them into the station to safety.

“Thank God!”

“Don’t thank him yet,” Kassidy said, and the station shook with torpedo fire. “Oh good, here comes the _Defiant_ …”

The slippery ship had appeared and uncloaked out of warp from somewhere, but she did a double take as the _Defiant_ at the station undocked and began chasing after the now fleeing warship.

“Two _Defiants_?” said Brathaw.

“I think that’s the _Sentinel_ that Ben told me about that’s coming in now. Prepare to dock at the station!”

They didn’t catch much of the battle, save for having to carefully maneuver to their docking port whilst the station shook and rattled, but as she powered down her engines in order to dock, she felt a sudden thrill of delight as the enemy ship was blasted into a thousand pieces by the two Federation ships.

“Nice,” said Nickson.

“Yeah,” Kassidy chuckled. “But damn, I guess the concert just got cancelled. Maybe the cargo will cheer them up...”

She was thinking of the boxes in the back, with the isolinear rods, and the holographic programs, all labelled for delivery. She thought about their creator, who had been taken off her ship without any reason given by two guards.

She wondered why they hadn’t confiscated his belongings. And a new thought suddenly formed.

_What if he wasn’t being arrested?_

“I think I’ll make the hologram deliveries myself, and have a talk to Captain Sisko and his staff…”

Her first nodded largely, she was probably expecting this.

“And when you’re at Quark's, remind him about the money he owes us…”

“Yeah,” her second officer laughed. “Big gobs of latinum.”

“Liquid if he has it,” added Nickson.

“Haha, all right you nuts, I’ll be sure to remind him. He’ll probably just offer you bar credit.”

But Kassidy got another strange thought as she lifted the unusually heavy box, and considered its contents.

_Why would they kidnap a holo-writer?_

She was determined to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin, the rumor that Sisko started hasn't left the station yet, but Kassidy is going to fix that. She would not know why Felix was being kidnapped, automatically assumed its an arrest of some kind. But she's also formerly a smuggler for the Maquis so she's not entirely convinced either about the Federation's intentions. Lets see what she can do. :)


	13. Darkness and Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: edits made. :3

Rain was pouring down upon his head like a drumbeat from the very moment they beamed down to the planet, and he was sure he wasn’t going to get much of a break from the rain any time soon. They had all learned their lesson though; never underestimate your opponent, and had and now surrounded him four to one, in a group. One tiny human Augment and four big Starfleet security officers.

He was impressed with the overkill. And severely unimpressed by the forty foot high wall of sheet metal and sliding gate he was being presented with. 

“This...is it? I could scale that in an hour, maybe less...”

“One moment,” the ‘leader’ of the four moved forward to the gate controls and activated a panel. The wall and panel shielding activated with a painful buzzing noise; no-touch outer plating, not without burning four or five layers of your skin off, and a twelve foot high electromagnetic ‘barbed wire’ array shot out from the wall pylons and connected to give off electric shocks to any escapees.

“What do you got in there, King Kong?”

The reference flew right over their heads.

“Just you,” the leader said, at least one of them, “And the targs.”

A chorus of chuckles and the gate slowly slid open with a loud alarm sound, literally bringing Felix Knightly’s brain back to that 20th century movie about dinosaurs that got loose in a park and ran amok. 

“I’m not a Klingon, you do realize? I hope the replicators make coffee and pizza…”

“They make coffee, if they work,” the man huffed as they walked him into the gate. “We’ve only been working on the gate so far, you get to be the first guest.”

“You mean the first test subject, right?” Felix retorted. “The minute word gets out that a citizen of the Federation was locked up in a Prisoner Of War camp without charge, the planetary members will go on strike.”

“They didn’t protest having Klingons here,” the man replied. “You’re a dangerous Augment.”

“Actually,” Felix turned to give them a lecture. “They did protest…” but the gate was closing behind him.

“Have a nice night…”

Felix could not believe it. Sure enough, they just left him, in the middle of the rain, and dark, on the other side of this massive impenetrable gate. He turned around suppressing his horror and fear, not wanting to give them even the tiniest clue as to how absolutely terrified he was. There were targs running wild in this compound, it literally was like Jurassic Park.

_Neuropathway enhancement...means I could theoretically advance my own neuro-electrical systems by simple routine exercise, to the point that my genetic code would adapt and create neuro-pathways to allow me to perform more extreme feats of strength than I would normally be capable of. THEN I would be dangerous...But I never wanted to be that strong...I’m a writer, not a t-rex._

Frustration was really starting to set in, and instinctive self-defensive mechanisms were kicking in, the sounds of rain on the leaves, the dark shadows around the trees, the weird sounds in the darkness…

He could, thankfully, see a building, and headed towards it, hoping he wasn’t already being stalked, but not being confident in his assessment of this fact. He would probably have to break in and who knows what was already inside.

 _But I’m safer on the planet, really. Those ruffians in orbit will soon be dealing with_ **_her_** _._

Oh did this thought ever cheer him up! The lights of the gate wall were just enough for him to reach the building safely, it was indeed locked and he did have to break in, but knowing that he didn’t have Rebirth and it’s ass backwards crazy leader laser pointed in his direction was a very very very happy thought indeed. 

\-------

“Ben, the craziest thing showed up in our sensors as I was heading here to DS9,” Kassidy Yates walked along beside Benjamin Sisko towards Quarks, and he observed the frenzy of activity on the second level where the stage and temporary seating platform was being dismantled by several engineers. “Damn I wish I hadn’t missed that concert.”

“Crazier than that kamikaze Klingon? And you only missed the first half. He’ll probably do the rest of his concert tomorrow before we head off to the DMZ...”

“Maybe, just a strange ship, it was gone before we could take much more than a few readings, but I didn't recognize it at all..."

"We'll have a look at your logs."

"I don’t know why I agreed to deliver these things,” Kassidy had been extremely grateful that he had offered to carry them for her, it was a heavy box. “I guess I felt bad for him…”

“From the report I got from Starfleet, Felix Knightly must have made some program that wasn’t legal in the Federation.”

“Well, if he had, wouldn’t they have confiscated this box?”

Sisko stopped, they had arrived at Quark's and Sisko put the box down on top of the bar. She had a point, they should have taken this box.

“Good point. Constable Odo, will you please report to Quark’s to inspect a box?” he tapped his badge and waited for confirmation before looking around.

Around the bar were dozens of people, Songbird and his fans at a table signing autographs, whilst Quark handed out coupons and promised a free ticket to his next performance on the station for those that could not make the second half of the concert that Songbird would be playing here at Quark’s the next day. Ticket stubs for this performance would be required to take advantage of this one time offer! Sisko congratulated himself on the lucky guess, then turned to look at Kassidy.

“Before I go, did Knightly say anything about this box before they arrested him?”

“He wanted you and his friends at Deep Space 9 to know,” Kassidy took a deep breath, and put her hands on her hips. “That he was the first. He was the first one they took.”

Songbird suddenly stopped for a moment, and said, “What?”

Sisko turned to look at him, and met the man’s eyes and the youth looked back at him, hard. Then the young man got up to leave.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Quark asked hastily.

“Waste extraction...seriously you don’t have to follow me everywhere!”

But he was heading for the door rather than the bathroom entrance at the back of the bar.

“Well that doesn’t sound good,” Sisko turned to look at Kassidy again. “Are you leaving soon? We can have dinner...”

“No way, Ben, I’m staying to make sure each of these holograms is delivered to the right person,” she glared at Quark, who was coming over with that particular light of latinum in his eyes. “And make sure they were all paid for.”

“I understand...”

“Now, now,” said Quark as he approached, grinning ear to ear. “Felix always sends his guys with these boxes, and they just put them on my bar…”

“I disagree,” Bashir suddenly strode into the room, with Songbird, and of course, Odo followed close behind. “I always pick up that box and bring it here and hand out the programs myself, Quark. Felix is _my_ friend, remember?”

“Julian, I’m afraid your friend got arrested by Starfleet,” Sisko said and turned to Odo. “According to Admiral Bennet it was an illegal program of some kind, I’d like you to inspect this box before we hand out these holo programs everyone ordered.”

“Too bad,” Quark said, looking in the box cautiously. “I don’t want any illegal programs in my bar.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t confiscate this cargo when he was arrested,” Odo mused.

“See, Ben, that’s what I said!” Kassidy complained. “They didn’t care about his cargo! Didn’t even ask about it! He wasn’t arrested for his programs.”

“Felix Knightly is a board member of the Integrity in Holo-writing Association, and is one of the most outspoken writers on that board, winning awards for the ethical protocols and safeguards he himself created for holodecks we now use on Starships,” Julian looked thickly aggravated with them. “And he verifies all of his work with a board of certification at Starfleet on Earth, which runs his programs themselves and approves their code. I highly _doubt_ he was arrested for illegal coding!”

“Then I was right,” Kassidy said. “He was kidnapped! I mean, they didn’t read charges or anything, just took him off the ship. To put him on another ship. He told me they were taking him. He was the first one...”

Sisko took a deep breath, and then turned to look at Songbird and looked firmly at him. Songbird had returned to signing autographs at a table, but he was pale as a ghost and barely looking at his work. The young Augment immediately understood the implied looks and slipped out of the bar again, leaving Quark, Odo and Bashir arguing about whether the holograms were safe to distribute or not and Kassidy wanting Quark to pay her outstanding fees for a past delivery.

What was really happening was Songbird, going to his quarters, and sending his message to the Thread that an Augment had been carried off to prison camp. It had begun. Sisko knew. He had been warned about this, but he had to be certain about Knightly’s status, and Songbird and Julian both confirmed this with their actions.

It was up to the Thread now. Starfleet Intelligence and Admiral Novos were making good on their threat to lock up Augments, and if they couldn’t get the rest of the Federation to openly protest it, someone else would act in their stead.

He only hoped this wasn’t the wrong move.

\--------

“Songbird?”

Julian Bashir slipped into their shared quarters quietly, not wanting to disturb Garak, who was in bed with a concussion headache brought on by the light show that was the Klingon Bird-Of-Prey. If the ship hadn’t attacked the station, they would have still been making out in the back room of Garak’s shop. Instead he’d had to half-carry Garak to the infirmary when a large box of supplies had fallen off a shelf onto his skull.

“Songbird…” Julian walked over to the man, who was now sitting in the far corner of their dining area behind his red piano and the dinner table, nearly invisible in the shadows, a PADD hanging limply from his hand. “Matthew…”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that!”

The reaction was so vitriolic Julian wondered if he really had underestimated the source of this self-name-hate.

“Shhhh, Garak is sleeping…”

“Garak’s here? Jujuuuube.”

In fact, Julian had brought Garak back here after treating his injury not thinking about how Songbird would feel having the Cardassian tailor in their bed. They weren’t married yet.

“See! You call me Jujube...and I don’t like it.”

“This is different….”

“How? You never really explained it...and you could have changed it any time if you wanted.”

Songbird took a deep breath.

“My namesake was Matthew Toddbrook, who was one of the translators involved in the peace agreements with the Sheliak. A man my mother idolized. Everything in my _world_ was about translators. Even my first pet, mom got me a parrot that could speak sixteen languages. I couldn’t speak even one yet. It wasn’t fair.”

“No it wasn’t. I think you should change your name if you don’t like it. Like to Matty or Mattias or something like that. I changed my name from Jules.”

“Jules?” Songbird looked like he was going to smile. “Like, Jules Verne?”

“Pleeeease,” Julian winced. “My dad’s favorite books.”

“Then you understand what I feel?”

“Yeah,” Julian sat next to him. “But I want a name I can call you that is just yours, not your stage name or your brand. A pet name, like you give me. Like Shavi calls you Birdling. _Not_ like Jujube.”

“Garak calls you his ‘dear Doctor’,” Songbird teased. “I guess...well you could use my middle name. William. My dad’s first name. I don’t know why she gave me his name when they were separated. Because he’s my dad I guess”

“I don’t think Will suits you. And Willy is a bad joke waiting to happen.”

Songbird laughed, and sang,

“Wee Willy Winky, sitting in the dark…”

He didn’t get the chance to continue to naughty bit, inspiration had hit.

“I know!” Julian sat up. “I’ll call you Piper.”

“Piper.” Songbird clearly didn’t know what to think about that nickname. “That has nothing to do with Matthew.”

“Like Sandpiper? A bird. And you spent hours here playing panpipes to record them for your concert, don’t think I didn’t hear you. All your music have pipes and flutes of some kind. ”

“Piper…” Songbird seemed to taste the word as he spoke it, Julian was almost sure that he could.

“Well?”

“I like it, but just you...okay? I don’t want it to get mixed up with my brand.”

“Songbird is a perfectly normal name!” said an aggravated Garak suddenly coming out of the bedroom. “My concussion headache cannot stand up against you little twittering crows arguing about language! Are you both coming to bed? I’ll take one of you if that’s better, but it’s cold in here, and I’m a Cardassian and we hate the cold. More is better.”

Julian stared. Songbird stared. And then Songbird smiled at him. And Julian smiled too.

Garak’s face took on an ‘oh I shouldn’t have said that’ look and he hastily fled back into the bedroom, two augment humans hot on his tail.

\-----------

“It’s an unusual ship design,” Jadzia Dax tapped the monitor with her fingers as both Sisko and Kira leaned over the console on either side of her. The image on the console was little more than a simple crescent moon shape of light, a high speed rendering of the object at warp. “Hard to tell what materials were used from only a quick picture and energy scans, but I’d say it has ablative armor.”

“The single warp nacelle along the back is unique,” Kira said quietly. “Like a Ferengi cruiser...”

“It’s not Ferengi,” Dax was a bit annoyed. “But similar in design. Close enough that people might mistake it for Ferengi, that may be as intended.”

“I’d guess the warp core is in the center of the ship, here,” Sisko tapped the image, not yet having spoken. “And I’m guessing this ship would be armed.”

“Definitely designed for battle,” Dax agreed. “Let me run the images through again and see if I can catch site of a torpedo bay.” 

“Interesting,” Sisko looked at the images. “The surface is so congruous, its hard to make out any surface features.”

“On Bajor we say that everything important is always on the inside,” Kira said, and tapped her own side of the console to bring up a schematic. “This ship was moving away from the convoy and if it was keeping on course, then its destination was in the direction of Neutrality space, here…” she tapped her own map and Sisko walked around Dax in order to get a better view.

“Not that far from Ferenginar either,” he tapped his badge. “Sisko to Commander S’Vek.”

“S’Vek here, Captain.”

“It’s time for you to earn your rank. We’re going to send you a picture and coordinates of a potential problem vessel that a cargo pilot picked up on the way to DS9. See if you can get us better pictures, and an idea of where it originated from.”

“Yes captain. I can maintain the cloak at all times if you prefer.”

“Yes, keep it quiet,” Sisko turned to look at Dax and Kira as he continued. “This ship was following the cargo route, but isn’t a cargo ship, which means trouble in my book. Sisko out.”

\-------

Darkness. All save for the lights flashing on black metal consoles, the thrum of ship systems were breathing with energy. The flashes of metal badges on the black and silver uniforms of her officers broke the darkness with their brief sparkles, crossing the bridge and therefore, between her gaze and the viewscreen, whose map of stars was a web of colors in the pitch black darkness.

She liked her ship dark. The dark metal surfaces internally belayed the moon silver of the external hull. Her officers could see well enough with just the console lights and the darkness kept everyone a little more alert. A little more on edge.

A little more...predatory. Her dark black eyes took in her officers from behind her black curtain of hair, her Asian features in contrast to her mostly dark skinned staff members. Her Faction recruited rather mono-racial crews for a very specific reason; these Augments weren’t just officers, they were entire families; brothers and sisters from genetically engineered groups. Batch bred soldiers, if she was brutally honest about it. Born together, raised together, trained together. This accounted for the lack of genetic diversity in her crew, but it also meant she could depend upon them to give their lives for one another, and for her. But she had earned their loyalty from decades of victories against enemies beyond their colony. And they had quickly earned hers in this last year they had been together.

_And now, we can finally show the rest of Factions why I was chosen as their leader._

Her Faction had been active out here in the wild stars for many years, as long as the Federation had flown its flags, and she could trace her own ancestry back to China, from during the Pre-Federation era and even the Post-Atomic Horror, through the remaining records that had survived. Her oldest recorded ancestor had been a desk clerk in a Khan-era court of law, and this was something that she was very proud of. Knowing her history, her origins, her people’s traditions, her family origins, they were very strong factors in her selection of her crew, the creation of her ship, and most importantly, which Faction she had joined, the faction she now lead, whose name summed up everything she hoped for the future of her people and the human race.

Rebirth.

Her first officer was sitting at a duty station, inputting code at faster than human speed, his fingers rattling the keys, his dark black eyes meeting hers only briefly before turning back.

“Captain, we have the location...we would be up to our necks in Klingons before we reached it, it’s very close to the border…”

“Not yet,” she said, realizing she had practically rasped the word out. “Not yet, there’s no need to run off to the aid of one person…”

“Yes, Captain…”

“Are our weapons systems ready?”

“And I have an inventory, for your inspection,” he offered her the black PADD, but she waved it away.

“I trust your judgement, for now, we need to finish the test of security and safety systems. Prepare the crew for the safety drills, and remind them that this ship is still a prototype, if they want to complain about it.”

“Yes Captain.”

She raised her eyes back to the grid of stars on her monitor. Her ship would soon be joining those stars, its silver saucer gliding as a slice of white light across the darkness of space. But for now, she would have to wait.

_The Moon sits, waiting for the sun to rise. What new horror will the light reveal by the time darkness falls again? When will the predator break free of the glade?_

The darkness of space answered with nothing more than the silence of starlight.

\--------

The cot was painfully uncomfortable, Klingons didn’t care for padded beds. And he hadn’t wanted to try sleeping on the crumbling remains of what little fabric he had been able to glean from the refuse in this place. This prison barrack was little more than a box with metal rectangles bolted to the walls.

But Klingons were clever people. After a lot of searching in the darkness he had found the right panels to open to repair the non-functioning light, and inside that panel the Klingons had been hiding a ton of contraband. His head was still reeling from the fact that Starfleet hadn’t even searched this place after releasing the Klingon prisoners of war all those years ago.

They would have had to admit security was lax. They would have had to admit that this place was an abuse of prisoner’s rights.

_I can handle being in a gulag, if it means I’m armed at the same time._

The Klingon disruptor had a dead battery cell, but he’d connected it to the building’s electrical systems to charge it. The prison camp’s generator had been fixed up at least, since they had needed it to power the wall barrier to keep him locked inside, so he had running energy systems. There weren't any replicators, after all, and he didn’t know where food would be coming from, but for now he was examining an old Starfleet PADD that was so ancient it didn’t have LCARS. It was the Federation PCAP-SYS operating system and it needed updating desperately. The screen was a tiny display on top of a large base with physical keys. He would have enjoyed the nostalgia, if he hadn’t known just how bad holography had been in those days. 

He would be useless here if he didn’t get access to whatever information library might still be contained in this PADD and access it. He needed blueprints for a replicator.

Along with the PADD and the disruptor, the Klingons had pulled out a lot of the electronic components from the walls, probably in their regular attempts to escape. A Klingon only committed suicide if there were no hope of escape, and no enemies left to fight. A large number of dangerous predators had been released into this prison to keep the Klingons fighting, and happy, until they could escape. The Federation had understood and respected their enemy.

But they didn’t understand or respect this enemy. Felix could reprogram any computer you put him in front of, but he needed the parts to do it. Without parts there was nothing to keep him happy. Without activity he would go insane.

And if he did eventually slip into that state...that state human Augments went into when the brainstem was overwhelmed and instinct took over mental function...

He did not want to get angry, hungry, or desperate enough to go into that state. He wondered why it happened to every Augment, why it was difficult to genetically engineer Augments without that rage state.

_Woolgathering is extremely useless. Maybe I should just install Spiral and be done with it._

Why his brain defaulted to Spiral he wasn’t sure, but it was the computer language used by The Thread, and the likelihood that he would have been able to connect to the Thread again was laughable. There would be no connecting to outside communications systems.

_Then again…the Klingons were able to smuggle weapons in here...what else could they have smuggled?_

Suddenly he wanted to leave the safety of this building, and go exploring the rest of the compound. There were other buildings, work buildings, recreation, a garden hopefully, if the faded map on the barracks wall was accurate, and he wanted to see what he could salvage. Maybe a transmitter?

_As soon as that battery is charged...I’m not going into the wilderness with targs and whatever other Klingon dinos the Federation felt were necessary to placate Klingon taste for bloodshed. I’m a writer, not a character in one of my own holo-novels. I’m going to do this the way a writer would do it. Spiral is a good start._

And so for the better part of an hour he spent inputting Spiral code into the PADD, pulling open wall panels to search for more parts, setting up a simple conduit system to store power and regulate temperature in the room, and located the taps for the sewage system and clean water for drinking. There were no replicators, and he didn’t know for certain that he had the right components for making one of his own, so as soon as the disruptor was charged he readied himself to go looking for the aforementioned garden. And maybe he could kill a targ, if he was desperate enough.

_But I might be able to construct a transmitter, if there isn’t one here...and I can call for help._

But he’d be damned if he would accept help from _her_ , even if she did come. That woman was a lunatic, he was terrified of what she would do with him once he was on board her ship. 

_If she did come to the rescue it might end up being worse than staying here._

His only hope was that Dreamer was clever enough to put two and two together. It all depended on Dreamer now.

_I don’t expect anyone else to pay attention to me. If Julian didn’t get my message…Dreamer will look for me...and if not Dreamer...well..._

He really didn’t want to know who would come for him. But the Thread would not ignore his message. He would not be here forever…

And then he had another thought…

_Well...this is a very secure compound, the Federation sure doesn’t need it..._

Suddenly his plan changed, and everything shifted focus. Now he needed to contact the Thread...before anyone did anything rash.

\--------

Four sets of eyes were peering at the monitor in confusion.

“Our friend is in trouble! We must run to his aid!”

“Oh no!”

“We'd better make it fast, before it’s too late…”

“...”

The fourth viewer pulled away from the console, where the Thread message had been spinning in a series of glyphs and sequences that had repeated their patterns and seared them into her overstimulated brain. As the patterns formed logical rhythms and sequences, the message sender’s name and information came forward and made themselves known. By the time the rest of her friends had decided on a course of action, she had found a PADD of her own and began inputting her own glyph coded message.

_Stay the course...we’ll have a new place of our own…just as we’ve been waiting for..._

“Sarina’s right!” Jack had picked up the PADD as soon as she had finished to read it. “We’ll need, we’ll need, we’ll need, uuuuuuhhhh,” he put his hand to his chin. “Replicators!”

“And lots of PADDs,” Patrick said excitedly. “Ooh, I’ll start packing.”

“We’ll need a ride of our own,” Lauren said saucily, and threw back her red hair.

“Well, well our friends in the Federation will give us a ride! They already want us to go right? We’ll just take what we need from their ship!”

“We’ll take their ship,” Lauren shortened the thought.

“Oh, we are leaving for good then?” Patrick looked down at the drawer he had opened. “We’ll have to take _everything_!”

Sarina had already sent a message to the Thread.

_Standby for more information…- Silence_

“Don’t forget our names Sarina! This is important. We're a team!”

She had already begun putting them in, and Jack picked up the PADD.

“Wonderful, wonderful! We’re all going on a trip to start a new home on a new colony far far away with all our friends!”

“It’s going to be so much fun!” Patrick clapped his hands.

“A thrilling ride,” Lauren crooned. 

_A massacre,_ was the only thought Sarina could formulate, before getting up to once again gather her own belongings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The Jack pack! I love those four!


	14. Home is Where The Heartbeat Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: A few edits made. Hopefully all typos have been fixed now. :3

Haley Joy Ramirs was three years old. She liked to count things. She could count her five little fingers on each hand, and add them to ten. Her ten toes were her favorite to count, and they were ticklish. And all those fingers and toes made twenty when she added them.

She had fuzzy black hair, and brown skin and she looked just like her Mommy and Daddy together. She liked that she was Mommy plus Daddy.

She did like math. She counted all her teddies and dolls in the morning, and sang her times tables as she dressed them. She read to them from her PADD, stories about the pretty Greek Princess named Helen and her lover named Paris. She liked that story. She liked the one with the wooden horse and all the soldiers hiding inside too.

She put all her dolls’ names into a hat and picked which one she wanted to take with her for the day, at random because that was fair. She did this every morning. But there was a very good chance it would be Charlotte this time, she had guessed from all the times she hadn’t had Charlotte yet that her name would come up soon by chance, and it did, she was right. Yesterday she had learned that this was called ‘probability’ and she would be learning all about that in school. She picked up the curly haired blond dolly, that looked just like her friend Stephanie, and carefully re-dressed her in the matching dress to her own. Her travel doll always dressed the same way she dressed!

Today bright pink with ruffles, a pretty dress for going to a party with her parents. They were celebrating with their friends, and she couldn’t wait to see Stephanie, and show her a doll that looked just like her.

She was finishing tying the laces on Charlotte’s shoes when her mother rushed quickly into the room.

“Haley honey we have to go,” her mom’s pretty face was pinched and concerned, and she pulled out Haley’s backpack and started to pull things out of drawers to put in it. “You have the doll you want to take with you? Say goodbye, we may not be back for awhile…”

That made Haley stop. She thought the party meant she would only be gone until dinner. She did have a favorite doll for overnight visits, but Kathleen had been given one too many special trips already, Charlotte hadn’t had any! Probability meant that it was now Charlotte’s turn, after all!

“Yes Mommy,” she could see the concern growing in her mother’s face as she packed way more than for an overnight. She was packing worriedly, without taking care. “Don’t forget my comb Mommy.”

“Yes, I would have forgotten,” the little blue comb with the rosette was her favorite, and it went in, and so did her special PADD and a big box of crayons and a book to color. “This is good. Come on now, honey…”

Her Daddy was waiting outside for them. But her parents didn’t have suitcases.

“They’ll be here any minute,” he said. “We head straight to the tube, no stopping.”

“Hold Mommy’s hand hand tight honey,” said Mommy, and they walked down the street, walking very fast.

Her parents weren’t acting normal, and neither were the people in her neighborhood. There was a loud sound in the air, the colony air sirens were going off. Avians were flying around above the nearby hospital, moving at fast speeds. She had never seen so many people in such a rush.

She knew how much danger they were in, the exact moment her Daddy suddenly picked her up from behind and they started running. People had started screaming, the sound of transporters were going off and the sound of sudden phaser fire went off behind her.

“Mommy!” she shrieked, clinging to her doll. “Where’s Mommy??”

“I’m here,” she was holding Daddy’s hand and they were running, fast, but not fast enough Haley knew.

“Quick, there’s the evacuation tube! Just a few more feet…!”

Two men teleported right in front of them, blocking their escape, and Haley screamed. Her Daddy turned his back on the two men and her parents put their hands around her.

“Names!!!”

“Give use your names!! Hurry up now!!!!” said the man, pointing a phaser at them. 

“Janet Ramirs…” her mother said...her voice shaking and tears falling.

“Paul Ramirs…”

“And the girl? Quick!”

“Haley!” she said, wanting to say her name too. “My name is Haley!”

“She’s on the list…”

“You ain’t taking my daughter!” Daddy turned, handing Haley over to her Mommy, bodily shielding them with his back. “You ain’t taking my little girl!”

“Of course not,” said the man, tapping his PADD. “You’re all coming. Gregs to _Vesuvius_ , from directly ahead of our position, three to beam up to hold.”

“No!” her mother screamed, and then the transporter surrounded them. “Wait! Please she’s not...!!”

It was too late. But Haley was delighted, her fear briefly forgotten as they dematerialized. She had _never_ been transported before.

Her doctor had said that she wasn’t allowed to. But she didn’t understand why not. It was so pretty, all the sparkling colors and lights.

And they went on forever...

\-------

“It’s PERFECT!!!”

Once again, Ziyal had that aggravating talent of both confirming the very best and very worst about a situation all in one simple word.

“Oh definitely,” Garak said, feeling his teeth set on edge.

The tiny townhouse that the real estate agent had brought them to was standard Bajoran design, a squat two level rectangle, with an overhang front and a shaded porch. It had a big green yard ready for planting with flowers, the wild variants had already taken over giving the gardener in him a very good idea of how lovely this place would look with copious red and violet blooms holding court on the green. His teeth were hurting even more.

“Well, let's have a look inside,” said Julian behind him, a severely knowing look on his face, even as Songbird danced into the front door, followed by the excited Jake and Ziyal.

Garak pointedly tried to keep the smile on his face as they entered. The small town of Saset where this house was located was not his favorite place, as beautiful as it was. Too remote, no major urban centers. And very standard Bajoran architecture. The first floor was standard as well, a single long rectangle open plan kitchen, dining and visiting area, and the realtor was smiling just as hard as Garak as she opened a hidden door in the floor to show the basement access. He looked down into its dark recess with a sense of foreboding. 

“My apologies for the dust, we weren’t prepared to show this house today, but since you insisted,” the agent was grinning very politely, but clearly did not like Garak at all. “This unit can house a family of four,” she said, clearly lying, “The basement is equipped with both a traditional root cellar and refrigeration unit. The heating and temperature controls for the house can be accessed here,” she opened a small cupboard in the kitchen to reveal a hidden modern console. “As well as communications systems and security video controls.”

So there was a security camera, Garak looked around and couldn’t locate it, and was skeptical that it even existed. And the woman closed the cupboard door before Garak could discern more than the presence of a standard Bajoran console. He was _not_ going to reopen it and reveal his paranoia. Songbird had gone upstairs with the two young lovers and Julian was patrolling the kitchen area looking properly happy and enjoying Garak’s own personal hell.

“What type of energy does it run on?” Julian asked, both of them having been drilled by Kira on proper questions to ask.

“Gas, but you can install a solar unit on the roof quite readily…We don’t provide this service but I can give you the name of the company that does...”

“Thank you,” said Julian. “We’ll have a look at the generator later…”

“Well, if you two would come downstairs there’s more…” she pointed to the ‘hole’ now, and Garak was startled. 

_No. No no no…_

“I’ll go look,” Julian went down and he could hear the whistle. “It’s bigger than it looks from the outside, Garak, you’ll be alright…”

Fortunately the man was not tricking him, yes the steps were rickety, it was a little dusty, but the basement was a big empty cement square with a square refrigeration box glowing bluely from one corner. It had many many shelves the realtor had called the ‘traditional root cellar’. They were just dusty metal shelves bolted into the cement. This space was more utilitarian than traditional, and Garak realized that her pitch had been designed for Bajoran customers, but the original purpose of this space was far from traditional.

“Over here,” the Bajoran woman stepped carefully, and glared at Garak for a moment, almost daring him to say something, before she tapped a slightly off spot on the wall. Suddenly a section of the wall moved and swung inwards. “This was a tunnel used by the Underground during the Occupation,” she was still glaring at him, daring him, just daring him to point out the non-traditional design of the root cellar. “The tunnel goes all the way to the Saset water reservoir. A shortcut for a romantic stroll by the river…perhaps?”

Oh that glare. He was so tempted, but Julian laughed and beat him to it.

“Well, with the Dominion and all that…easy escape route,” he peeked in briefly. “I thought they reserved the houses of former resistance for Bajoran clients only?”

“You are considered a Bajoran now, _haj a kai_ ,” said the woman pointedly. “In going further with the tradition, we usually reserve these houses for the original owners in the resistance who want to claim them, but the original owner chose to sell it, forgoing his claim…”

Garak peeked into the tunnel. Too small, too small, but perfect as an escape access, yes. He approved, but he wasn’t going to give her an inch.

“Certainly adds a bit of interesting historical interest to place,” he noted, keeping his tone even.

“Indeed. Well, we’d better go see what your young friends are doing?” she said politely as she closed the door. “They must be enjoying the lovely view.”

Julian practically skipped up the stairs. Being called a Bajoran hadn’t phased him at all, but the Bajoran religious title still annoyed him. Garak made his way up the even more annoying rickety wooden stairs to the second level, feeling his irritation turning to just plain frustration. This house was for fit people. He needed to lose ten pounds at least, and would if he had to scale these stairs every day.

Ziyal and Jake were nowhere to be found. The first room the stairs led to was a tiny cramped foyer. There were two bedrooms, to Garak’s surprise, a small master and a tiny child’s bedroom, possibly then a family of four _could_ live here, two adults and two small children. Emphasis on small. The bathroom unit was the reason why this upstairs was cramped, it had a full bathtub, and a shower head from a pipe poking in through the wall. The realtor showed them the function of the mechanical water pipes with a pleased look, her creased nose scrunching up in delight when Julian actually climbed into the bathtub to test its size.

“This is nice,” said Julian. “You know I’ve never been house shopping before,” he stretched up a leg and put his foot on the end of the bathtub. “Leave me here, I’ll sleep.”

“Oh but you have to see the balcony,” Songbird had somehow squeezed himself into the tiny room with the three of them, and he was blocking the door pointedly, arms crossed and a ‘look’ in his eyes that brooked no disobedience, quite a firm look in fact. “Go see, Garak…”

Garak sighed, and Songbird moved to give him room as the realtor helped Julian out of the tub. The balcony on the back of the house overlooked a very large back yard, as far as Bajoran standards went, since it was the back of the neighborhood and no other streets could be seen from here. It was overlooking the reservoir, he realized, and the balcony had a trellis overhang with tiny vines which were growing up over it in a curtain, from the ground floor below.

Leaning against the railing in one corner, their heads together, their eyes shining, Jake and Ziyal weren’t looking at the view, they were looking at each other. Both were smiling, giggling, there was the light of the future in their eyes.

“Maybe in a few more years we’ll have a place like this…” Jake was saying. “We’ll plant a herb garden...You’ll have an easel here...I’ll sit there and write…”

A rickety wooden chair sat in the corner, overlooking the view, possibly the place Jake was referring to, but Garak didn’t feel safe sitting in that seat, and remained on his feet. The realtor had come over to stand beside Garak looking like there was money and triumph in her eyes.

A flashback of memory, memory of a Bajoran resistance fighter, tough and angry, not at all what he would consider a professional business woman, spitting in his face as she was taken away. She had done well for herself, he had to admit. She knew she had made a sale.

But he was going to maintain _some_ level of control, by Guls, or he would never be able to look at himself in the mirror.

“Let’s go downstairs,” he said to her, leading her away from the oblivious pair. “And talk _business_.”

\------

Songbird smiled millions of smiles as he watched Garak sign the PADD, looking annoyed, and yet somehow also happy, even resigned. Songbird was becoming familiar with Garak’s way of doing things and knew this man was doing the right thing, and that was always going to make any Cardassian second guess himself. ‘State things’ before ‘right things’ was the Cardassian default.

“So when do we tell them?” Songbird grinned, as the realtor slipped out of the house and told them to ‘enjoy!’ “They’re still cooing like lovebirds on the balcony.”

Julian got up to pick up the gas lamp igniter pointedly from where the last owner had left it hanging from a hook by the door. It was getting a little bit late.

“We’ll tell them immediately,” Garak said. “I used my Bajoran business license to buy this house, the taxes will fall under my business account as part of the expenses, and I need Jake to severely understand the responsibilities he is about to undertake.”

“What responsibilities?” said Jake, who was looking down at them from the second floor stairwell, Ziyal’s smiling face barely visible from above.

“Come down here,” Julian said, grinning even as he struggled getting the igniting wand to properly produce a flame. “We bought the house…”

The pair came down, laughing in delight.

“Oh it's perfect!!” Ziyal said, dancing on the spot. “It's just so romantic and cozy!”

“And quiet! It's so peaceful! Nobody to bother you!”

“I’m glad you both like it,” Garak huffed, and tossed the key card to Jake, who caught it startled. “Because it is now _yours_.”

“Surprise!” Songbird said, throwing his hands up. “Early wedding present!”

Ziyal practically fainted, she jumped on Jake crying, who was looking surprised, and confused, and unbelieving even as he smiled and supported her to keep her from falling over. “Really? For us? Really??”

“You’ll have to pay back MY part,” Garak said, firmly. “Songbird has paid the other half as a gift, as he said...generous as he is…”

“Oh Prophets,” Ziyal had stopped crying and started walking around the kitchen in a daze. She had barely seen the house, as they had gone up to the balcony first. “All ours Jake…”

“Well, we haven’t even told Kira and Dad we’re getting married…” Jake looked suddenly green. “They are going to flip!”

“Sooner, rather than later,” Julian said firmly, giving Ziyal that knowing up and down look with his eyes, her hands were resting almost naturally on her stomach. “You only have a few more weeks under Bajoran law, you know. And I know you want to keep it. But Kira is your guardian, I can’t keep it from her much longer...”

Ziyal colored, almost pointedly looking down at her not-yet-showing-stomach, and Songbird decided to go outside so the pair could talk about their lives and their new house and future child. He soon realized that Garak was close behind him. The tiny house was basically about the same size as Julian’s quarters stacked double on top but the ceilings on Bajoran houses were lower than in Cardassian architecture. The lack of headroom was clearly annoying the shortest person in their group.

_Claustrophobia be darned, he’s a little spoiled too. Our Garak prefers modern conveniences, like electric lighting…but I like the oil lamps, it adds warmth._

But this little house was just so quaint all around. The large backyard, with no back fence, meant that they would have to check a map to see where the property line was. Garak had immediately gone over to the generator and started examining it for potential technical problems, and Julian soon joined them outside.

“So now what?” Garak said, looking back over his shoulder to make sure the two young people were still inside the house. “We have yet to purchase a place of our own.”

There was a momentary quiet, save for the hum of the generator.

“I...own a hospital,” Julian said quietly.

“You what?” Garak said, flummoxed.

“The Cardassian hospital you’re going to exhume for Kai Winn?”

Julian had, as usual, bad timing, telling them this now. They had three more visits to properties scheduled that he would have to cancel now.

“A gift for the ‘ _haj_ ’ from his _‘kai_ ’ or so I was told,” Julian said thickly. “About thirty hecapates. We could sell off some acreage to buy a house in the nearby town, or build a house on the land, which would cut costs. But I'll be living there, since that’s where I’ll be for the foreseeable future...as I have since learned that I won’t be getting any other help for this project, it's entirely in my hands.”

“Oh Jewel,” Songbird decided to start calling him this instead of Jujube, and Julian had admitted that he liked being compared to treasure more than the candy reference. “You always put everyone else way before yourself. We could probably find some volunteers in the community that will help us once they learn what you are doing.”

“You didn’t tell us you owned the land...This changes many things...”

Garak was looking quite clearly interested in the value of the property. Songbird quite readily guessed that there was a reason he hadn’t told them yet.

“Garak,” but Julian turned to look at the tailor sadly. “It's a Cardassian designed hospital. Which means I will _need_ your help,” his face was filled with extreme guilt. “I know it's taboo to even look at a Cardassian body after death...but for identification I need access to the record systems…”

“Someone has to do it…” Garak sniffed a little, then looked at Songbird. “You’ll be on tour when we start this work. I suppose if we start building the house before you leave, it will be finished when you return.”

“And we’ll all have a little vacation together,” Songbird jumped and danced over to Garak to put an arm around his neck, which he knew ruffled Garak’s feathers. Mostly because it was such a romantic gesture to Cardassians, and too personal for the public. “A honeymoon for three!”

“So when’s the wedding you three?”

Julian rolled his eyes along with Garak and Songbird laughed. Ziyal and Jake had climbed back up to the balcony and were now watching them from above, completely sneaky looks in their eyes.

“Tomorrow afternoon at the Saset temple!” Garak said hotly, thoroughly annoyed at their eavesdropping. “Now get down here and help us with cleaning this place up, we’re going to be spending the night, after all!”

“I’ll go back to our shuttle and replicate some sleeping bags,” said Julian, still looking worried from their conversation. “Maybe one of you can come with me and carry back some equipment? I want to see how easily we really can convert this house from gas to electric.”

Songbird readily volunteered. This was exciting! Sleeping out under the stars, maybe up on the balcony with his two lovers...It was too late to find a hotel now, really, and why bother when you owned a house?

Life was perfect. Sure there were a few setbacks here and there, but the future was looking beautiful.

\--------

“Please!! Somebody help us!!”

“Is there a doctor? Please!!?"

“I know my rights! This isn’t Federation space! I want my lawyer!”

“It's been Federation space for a month, so don’t give me that lip!”

“What did we do wrong Dad?”

“Hush now son…

“I SAID SIT DOWN!”

“Now listen here you! If you don’t get my lawyer on the communications system...IN TEN SECONDS!”

“A DOCTOR! PLEASE! HELP US!!”

The cargo bay was cramped. Cramped with angry, complaining, crying, frightened people. Many of them were ordinary adults. Mostly accompanied by VERY extraordinary children.

Fortunately for Doctor Michelle Avery, she wasn’t either of them. She was a Doctor, but not from the hospital and colony that had just been upended by the Federation, and she had immediately regretted her decision to volunteer to help on this mission the minute the first child had been beamed aboard. Without her parents.

All she had been told was that these people were all guilty of criminal genetic engineering activities and were being brought to a temporary holding facility until trials could take place. But this didn’t excuse the children. Neither did their explanation of not wanting to separate families. From the number of children without adults, and adults without children frantically asking about their children, they had just started beaming people out according to the list, and were going to sort them upon arrival.

“PLEASE!”

“I’m a Doctor!” Avery shouted over the din as she pushed through the bodies, two security guards by her side. “Can everybody move out of the way so I can find my patient!!!”

Fortunately these _were_ human colonists for the most part, and they recognized her blue uniform and moved, but they didn’t stop the arguments, shouting at security guards who were trying to calm them, pointing them to the replicators and the line for the bathroom. Avery found the family of three she had been brought out of the cockpit to help treat, all of them curled up in a pile on the floor, the mother was weeping and rocking her child, the father was clutching a curly haired doll with a dress to match the child’s, his dark face pale and eyes bloodshot.

“What’s the problem?” She pulled out her tricorder to scan the unconscious girl, whose name didn’t even come up in the analysis. Not even in Federations records yet. She was approximately three, and she was not responding to any stimulus.

“Her DNA wasn’t finished,” said the woman, gasping and hyperventilating, looking mentally and physically destroyed.

“The doctor said transport could destroy her sequencing, until they completed her treatments she isn’t safe to transport! But we didn’t even get a chance to tell them when they grabbed us!” the father was angry, and people around them started to silence and gasp as the realization suddenly fell over the group what was happening in this corner.

Even the man wanting a lawyer stopped talking to turn and look at them, his eyes wide.

“Pleaaaaase!” the mother was no longer able to say anything else. “Pleaaaase…!”

All the girl did was twitch, no response to anything that Avery tried. Then she started flat-lining.

“Sweet Jesus!” Avery pulled out a hypospray to sedate the child, and pulled the girl into her arms. “ALL PERSONNEL OUT OF THE WAY! CLEAR THE AISLES!”

Bodies moved from her wake in a huge wave, there was terror in the look of the children, a man with a toupee had lost it somewhere in the shuffle and she nearly slipped on it.

“Dad is that gonna happen to me?”

“Why are they doing this to us Mother?”

“Wait! Wait!”

“You can’t go up with her,” said one of the guards behind Avery, keeping the crowd back, and Avery felt her blood run cold as she heard even more parents screaming and pleading for answers. “Doctor Avery will take care of her, stay where you are!”

“Get all their names, every family!!” Avery shouted back at him, “I don’t want to lose the parents of this child in this mess! She has no record!”

“Haley!” said the father. “Her name is Haley Ramirs!”

She barely caught that as the door to the cockpit closed around her and she put the child down on the only medically viable surface available for surgery, the navigator’s seat. She was not going to operate here.

“What is it?” Captain Frolk asked, annoyed in that penultimate Denobulan way that was somehow, simultaneously cheerful and stern. 

“She’s flat-lining and her DNA structure is breaking down. I want to transport her but didn’t want to panic her parents and the other people in that hold, she wasn’t supposed to be transported in the first place, and might not survive the second trip.”

“Which ship?” he asked, as calm as only a Denobulan _could_ be.

“The _Reckless_ has a surgical suite, as close to the best as we can get in this group…”

“Good then, _Vesuvius_ to _Reckless_ , this is an emergency, two are beaming over to the surgical suite sending their signals now."

“ _Vesuvius_ this is _Reckless_ , please stand by for transport.”

The child survived transport, thank goodness, but her heart still wasn’t beating. The surgical suite was not equipped for advanced DNA re-sequencing, but fortunately Avery wasn’t planning on doing this. She couldn’t go forward so she would go back.

“Prepare for DNA retrograde procedure,” she told the nurses, who were bustling around her, the _Reckless_ doctor sweeping into the room looking flustered and overworked. “Doctor, we need to take her a step back, to her last stable genetic state. Hopefully it won’t be too many steps back. We need that hospital’s medical records for the child, her name is Haley Ramirs, she has no Federation record yet.”

“Well this colony hasn’t been a Federation world for even a month yet. And this hospital keeps very bare records,” the man, named Stodgdon, said hotly. “But I will contact them. What are you going to do while we wait?”

“Control her functions artificially and put her into stasis,” Avery worked with the nurses to set up the heart monitor. “What the hell were they thinking transporting genetically engineered children without consulting the medical records of the patients? Any idiot knows to check before transporting from a hospital zone!”

“I don’t really know, but I do know I was not told there would be children,” Stodgdon was tapping furiously at his console now, trying to contact the planet. “I hope you have been keeping records of everything that has happened. The number of civil rights violations since we started here has been massive…”

“I don’t think they care much,” a nurse said, she was working very gently to slip a blood tube into the still not moving aorta of the little girl.

“Careful, sponge...clamp there…” Avery was monitoring the girl’s condition carefully even as she was making cuts, forming a two way entry in the chest cavity with an artificial transparent skin attached so they could go back in and work again if they needed. “I don’t want anything else bad happening to her, so lets keep her on the _Reckless_. I’ll see if they’ll let the parents transport over.”

“I don’t see why not?”

“We’re not full up yet,” said a security guard, who was standing by the door. She hadn’t seen him come in. “What are their names?”

“Ramirs is the family name, this girl’s name is Haley, so they’ll be looking for her specifically.”

“All right,” he immediately left, and Avery breathed a sigh of relief.

She wasn’t going to let anymore parents and children be separated. And she was going to spend a good hour writing loud complaints to every major Admiral in the Alpha Quadrant…

Just as soon as she got a break. No sooner had the girl been successfully put into stasis than she had to return to the _Vesuvius_ and deal with the victims of a fight that had broken out over access to the replicators.

It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avery I named for Michelle Obama, and Avery Brooks (Sisko's actor). I just liked the combination of names.
> 
> At first I wanted Garak to have a house on Bajor, going into town and shopping for fabric and things at a market. At least in my mind it is a fun idea, and will be fun to write if I can find a place for that idea to go, but maybe not in this fanfic. I realized it wouldn't be good for the story if Garak is living on Bajor so I had that light bulb moment where he would give the house to someone else, meaning that Garak would not be able to buy the shop on Bajor and would have to return to DS9. Hence gifting the house rather than keeping it. I had a fun time with this.
> 
> Songbird has a compulsive spending problem, which mirrors my own spending problem in real life. He basically just bought a house for his friends using all his money on a whim, the way I sometimes buy without thinking. The fall out from Shavi when she finds out will be swift.


	15. Burning Eclipse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Minor fixes. Yay! All done with the edits!

Commander S’Vek tromped heavily onto the _Sentinel_ ’s bridge, hoping that the fierceness of his determined step would convince the bridge crew that he was meant to be there.

He certainly had wanted this command and had done everything that he could to obtain it. He had taken a very considerable risk overseeing Doctor Zimmerman’s holo-doctor project, catching some very serious security risks in the man’s work the holo-engineer had been trying to sneak past Starfleet Security. Ruining the man’s career was probably something that would be considered cruel or evil by others, but the continued obstinance of Zimmerman, his willingness to put his own work and vision before the security of the Federation, had been a frequent cause for alarm at Starfleet HQ, especially with so many holograms already installed on most Federation starships.

But S’Vek hadn’t intended the man harm, and severely hoped that his own ambition wasn’t the cause for the man’s disappearance. Now he had his command, but was completely upended by the possibility that his rank advancement had nothing at all to do with his work with Zimmerman, and may simply have been due to word of mouth about his birth parentage. This would _not_ do. He wanted to leave behind his own footprints in the sands of time, not walk within someone else’s, and now was the time to start making a lasting impression.

“Helm, estimated time to arrive at destination?”

“Approximately one hour sir…”

“We’re on borrowed time and this is a low risk path, increase to warp six, then decrease at the approach…”

A few heads turned...warp five was the standard to prevent the destruction of warp fields, but most worlds were in agreement that up to warp seven was the most before damage was caused, five was being overly cautious. So increasing speed to take an hour off a journey wasn’t a stretch. It was the way he gave the command that made the impression, and he liked the looks of concern. It was a survey mission. If they failed to find anything, people would forget about the warp speed, or just attribute it to his newness at his position. But if they did find something…

“Scanners are still not detecting any warp signatures,” said Ramirs, and her eyes moved from her console to another screen.

Communications. The screen closed almost instantly, probably to prevent his notice, but it was too late. The young security lieutenant had been distracted all week, and had been going back and forth between her duties and contacting her family, causing a pointed decrease in her performance. He also knew she had a younger sister in the hospital, so he had to keep in mind the human mind’s inability to handle such disturbances in their ordinary lives. Emotions had a tendency to outweigh human judgement, especially in regards to family.

“Keep your eyes open and record everything. The ship we’re looking for showed up on the _Xhosa_ ’s sensors for mere seconds…” he sat down at the command chair, _his_ chair, and observed the stars. “I want to make it clear now to everyone that my orders were to retrieve information about the ship. However, should it somehow come to an altercation, despite our cloaked status, I want everyone ready for it…”

His speech had its effect. Everyone’s backs straightened a little bit more, and he could see Ramirs focus on her task, her curly black hair bouncing as she moved quickly from her sensor screen to the security console to start inputting commands for the potentiality of an unexpected attack.

With a nod of approval, S’Vek leaned back in his chair, and watched the starfield, its shimmering warp lines not too difficult for S’Vek’s advanced Vulcan vision to discern individual light sources. Its beauty was not lost on the Vulcan, who had spent many hours in his childhood in contemplation of the stars, sitting by his adopted father’s side atop the orphanage, as he explained the ritual of the _kolinahr_. S’Vek had not undergone the ritual, and neither had his twin sister, both had followed a different path. Logic dictated that he would return to Vulcan one day, and make the attempt, but for now, the stars held him with their shimmering beauty.

It was his advanced vision, and Remir’s quick thinking, that saved them all.

A single light flashed across his view crosswise to the starfield. He had to stop himself from jumping out of his chair.

“Evasive maneuvers!!”

She had already put in the commands and their ship was barely saved as a semi circle disc of pure ablative energy sheared passed their hull by feet, shattering their cloak by simple physical contact. The red alert klaxon sounded out and the feet of many scrambled to find their places.

“Battle stations! Increase shield output to maximum…!”

A phaser blast set them jarring sideways in their seats.

“No damage!” Ramirs called. “Shields are holding.”

“Return fire!”’

“Negative, Commander, phasers can’t get a lock on the target. Sensors are having trouble tracking it!”

“Try again, Lieutenant, keep our sensors on that ship!!”

It was moving like a beam of light across the viewscreen, suddenly flipping backwards and then coming at them for a second run.

“Keep it on our sensors!!” S’Vek repeated, keeping their mission and their reason for hunting this vessel in mind with his orders. “Ready torpedoes!”

It became a deadly dance, with the ship moving at blade sharp turns, avoiding attack, hitting them with phasers and deftly maneuvering out of range of attack.

“I’ve...I’ve never seen a ship move like this!” the frightened helmsman squeaked and was hastily tapping in maneuvering codes into the console. “It’s moving in and out of warp, turning in a flash!”

“Keep calm helm! Attack pattern twelve delta!”

“It’s firing again sir!”

Another blast, S’Vek felt his grip on the arms of his chair like a vice.

“Sir our shields are starting to lose strength,” Remirs called out, another blast shocked their hull. “If we could just get in a shot…”

“Helm, input maneuver Freyes 23,” S’Vek felt that his mind now worked three times as fast as it normally did on an ordinary battlefield. This was an extraordinary enemy vessel. “Ramirs, set us up for a full torpedo spray, and then phasers at my signal…”

Freyes 23 was a maneuver meant for use with a smaller enemy, at lower warp speeds, and he tactically decided that working in low warp might be this enemy’s weakness. 

Their ship performed the maneuver well, with the silver ship being forced to slow down to avoid the minefield of torpedoes left in their concentric path.

“Fire phasers!

The phasers hit their mark, searing across the silver surface of the vessel’s bow and forcing it to stop. The hostile ship rotated on the spot...turning and pointing itself at them in a threat display, it's shields full on and all weapons powered. It was an impressive and beautiful design, three times their size, three times their firepower, but had the same, if not better, maneuverability, which gave S’Vek considerable pause.

In the vacuum of space size didn’t matter in terms of speed and weight, but at _warp_ , where space changed its properties, size and shape _did_ matter, and a ship that size should not have been able to move at warp the way it did. He could not underestimate this new enemy.

“They’ve stopped their attack, they are now scanning us,” the operations officer, an Andorian name V’ah’sha, was tapping and analyzing every data point as quickly as possible. 

“What do our senses tell us about this ship?”

“Full ablative armor,” Ramirs confirmed. “An impressive hull, there are literally zero unnecessary ports or hatches, no doorways…a warp nacelle band…a deflector dish...a...”

“No need to list them, lieutenant. What about its weapons?”

“Scans of the ship show a phaser bank equal to a _Sovereign_ class, but no torpedo bays…” Remirs concluded.

“Don’t mistake the lack of torpedoes for a weakness,” S’Vek said. “This ship’s strength is its movement and lack of weak points to target...Tork, open a channel.”

“Sir?”

“HAIL them,” he formed a sharp blade with his voice and gave the communications officer a firm ‘look’.

Lieutenant Commander Tork was someone who tended to question orders. This relationship needed to be firmly brought into the realm of obedience on the battlefield, rather than freely offered opinions or critique. At any other time he would think otherwise, but not here, not now, with the silver scythe of death pointed right at their hull.

“Hailing frequencies open sir.”

“Enemy vessel! This is Commander S’Vek of the Starship _Sentinel_ requesting you end your attack, and identify yourself!”

Silence.

“No response, sir…”

S’Vek waited.

“Attacking vessel, this is Commander S’Vek! If I am going to be fighting an enemy, I would like to know who I am fighting!”

A gamble. S’Vek wanted to make sure anybody finding their ship, or what was left of it, would know who was responsible.

He knew they might not make it out of this one alive, or even in one piece.

The viewscreen changed to the view of a dark ship’s command chair, with only one person in view, the captain, of course.

“Greetings Commander. I am the Captain of the _Reverence_. And you already know my name. I dwell in the orbit of many worlds, always in many phases...always giving light...”

_Interesting..._

“You are the Moon,” S’Vek decided to play her game, even as his nervous crew shifted confusedly in their seats.

“Yes,” she said. “I am the light that shines even in darkness.”

She was human, Chinese if he was not mistaken, her voice and accent betraying her non-Standard upbringing, potentially colonial, dark haired, beautiful, and likely just as deadly.

“Why did you fire on us?” said S’Vek, feeling for a moment slightly under skilled for such a task as dealing with this strange woman.

Ramirs was watching them with one eye, and her console with the other, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the woman for a second. He hoped that Ramirs had continued to scan and record every image, using every methodology. Many times he had found that she didn’t seem to need his input, she would already be doing so, and was so now if his instincts were correct.

“Well Commander,” the woman leaned forward, eyes wide and dark, mouth pursed. “To know thy enemy is to know thyself...and now we both know...you have much more growing before you are worthy of the Moon…”

The comment shook him, just as the floor plating shook when the viewscreen turned blank and the phaser fire commenced once more.

“Commander!” Tork said. “We need to withdraw or we won’t be able to report any of this to anyone!”

S’Vek momentarily considered calling him out on his outburst, but he was right, tactically this was the best strategy.

“Helm, set course for DS9, warp 9, get us out of here!”

It was by the skin of their teeth that they evaded the Moon. She clearly had not wanted to follow them so deeply into protected Federation space. But as S’Vek gave orders for repairs, spoke to his officers, and took stock of the ship’s damage, he could feel a growing unease in the back of his head, and a tremor, unexpected, running up his spine.

‘ _Much more growing, before you are worthy…_ ’

His stomach twisted and he schooled his features into an implacable mask as the human weakness of his grandparent worked its way through his thoughts in defiance of the logic centers of his mind.

He would prove her wrong. He would prove them all wrong.

\-------

Felix Knightly looked up from his PADD, feeling the despair sinking in as he watched another family filing into the already crowded barracks. The little girl had a tube coming out of her chest, into a heart regulator the father was carrying in his hand. She would not survive without follow up treatment. Felix estimated without care she had three days, and she would go into heart failure. He didn’t tell the parents.

Felix could not, however, forget seeing the first family arrive in the barracks, alarmed by the sight of the child, and then the trio spotting him, and wanting to know what was going on. Felix had watched more and more families beaming into the area with increasing alarm at their numbers, and the lack of space in this facility. Some children were being minded by adults that were not even their parents. Now he was entirely certain that Starfleet had completely and utterly lost its mind.

Felix was still the only genetically engineered adult on the planet. These were all children, the oldest being a sixteen year old who had been sent to Adigeon for a follow up examination. That sixteen year old, a red haired girl named Remina, was helping him set up more beds, as best as they could with almost zero supplies. She had been very useful though, calm, rational, and had wrangled the parents into gathering palm leaves and ferns from the forest to put down for bedding in the barracks. She had freckles, red hair, green eyes, and most importantly of all, night vision, so she was keeping an eye out in the darkness for targs as the adults worked. He had given _her_ the phaser and instructions to kill and bring home the bacon, so to speak, if she did encounter one. He envied her calm and cheerful honesty and her courage in a very hopeless situation.

But he himself was a coward. He had cleared the lies away in one fell swoop by letting them all know that he was here because he was genetically engineered. He had not committed illegal genetic experimentation as these parents had said they were being charged with. This facility wasn’t for the adults...nor was it a security facility. It was a holding pen for Augments. Their children. It was a concentration camp.

He was a coward. He wasn’t going to even try at being a leader, Remina was far more suitable than he ever could be. He was a realist and deathly afraid, afraid and desperate enough that he had pulled roots out of the ground to eat rather than risking his life going after a targ himself. But he _had_ managed to locate a communications transmitter, brought that back to the biggest building, the barracks, where he could protect it, and was now communicating with the Thread. Remina and the parents would have to handle their own resource problems, he was one hundred percent now concerned with getting knowledge about this situation out to as many people as possible. It wouldn’t be long before **_she_ ** came, he was sure of that, but she hopefully wouldn’t be the only one. Someone would have to respond to this.

Dreamer was not available. He’d referred Tempest to the user known as Maestro and ended their communications.

 _Never trust a man with a shut off switch,_ Felix decided, and mentally berated himself for the momentary prejudice as he sent another message, this time to a user called ‘Rapunzel’, part of a group of Augments coming to lend a hand.

She was entirely one hundred percent certain they would not get there before _Reverence_ did but had promised to bring replicators. He only hoped they weren’t intercepted before they could deliver them.

_Or worse, that psycho-bitch might just decide they’re expendable..._

He couldn’t warn them, Moon would be watching the Thread herself. He just hoped she understood…

_We’re all in this together now._

\--------

“Pria...Garak. Pria...Julian…”

Elim Garak lifted the vessel to his lips, eyes on his new husband as he sipped, and the Vedic smiled.

Songbird gave a whoop of delight when they kissed and Ziyal cried and clapped her hands, Jake cheered. There was nobody else in the temple to witness the wedding, and the register PADD seemed almost like a foreign object as they signed it.

“God, I’m now married to _two_ people,” Julian gave Songbird a strong ‘look’ as he bounced up to put two arms around Garak in a hug. “How am I going to handle you both?”

“You could start by taking this one more firmly in hand!” Garak huffed, feeling affronted at the huge public display Songbird was making. Julian laughed, instead joining the hug, and giving them both kisses, causing the Cardassian more grief. “Really I ought to paddle you both!”

Laughter was the only response. Really, Garak had wanted a discreet wedding, which was the tradition for second spouses in Cardassian social norms. Julian had said he was fine with the idea, but he had seemed anything but happy all morning. Garak could sense an increasing anxiety in his new husband from the moment they had ended breakfast, and wondered at the cause. Was it the brief wedding? His marriage to Songbird had been a brief affair as well.

“So, how are we going to celebrate?” Songbird said, leaving Garak’s side to avoid any potential harm to his hind end.

Garak mentaly swore to make good on his promise to discipline this young rascal. It would prove a useful exercise in establishing his place in the hierarchy of their marriage group. Julian was clearly always going to be at the top. He just hoped that he was not going to be the bottom of the pile.

Though, that could sometimes be fun too.

“I’m rather enjoying the cool shade inside the temple,” Julian admitted, not quite meeting their eyes.

The summer heat was ripe on Bajor, and Garak had been basking in the wonderful warmth all day. They had woken that morning to blinding light streaming in the house windows. The heat was wasted on Julian, who had been reminding him that the human holiday of Halloween was fast approaching. But there would be no trick or treating for Julian here on Bajor. Garak had been planning to surprise him with a fresh pumpkin straight from Earth to carve, but they would have to settle for a Bajoran gourd, if one could be had for a good price. Still, Halloween was a couple weeks away, they would have Peldor Joi to celebrate first.

“I think we could try that little restaurant we saw on the way during our walk,” Garak opined, quite delighted to be leaving the temple, and pulled Julian reluctantly along with him. “I would enjoy some spring wine…”

“I would too,” said Jake, and Julian gave him a firm look. “I mean, when I’m old enough I will…”

Ziyal giggled.

“How about it Piper?” Julian reached a hand out to Songbird, who had, like a child, been trying to balance on a low railing along their path. “The restaurant?”

“That little outdoor place?” Songbird was blushing in response to either the heat or his new pet name. “Yes, I’d like that...”

The eatery had tables under a shaded overhang and the Bajoran waiter gave Garak a heated look before handing them all menus and sauntering away. Garak said nothing, just quietly tucked himself in, with Songbird deciding to sit between Julian and Jake. Ziyal took the spot between Jake and Garak. This was the nice thing about their friendship, they didn’t have to guess at who would be happier sitting where. _Hasperat_ and spring wine was ordered, juice for the minors, and they chatted happily over the meal together.

“So we’re going to spend the day tomorrow looking for a rental near the hospital,” Julian told the Lovebirds, as Ziyal and Jake were now called. “You’ll have the house all to yourselves.”

“And then the day after, we’ll be going to the hospital to work,” Garak insisted on reminding Julian, and the look in Julian’s eyes revealed the true source of his husband’s anxieties. It was not their wedding that had bothered him, but the coming work that he was dreading. “Songbird, don’t play with your food! Honestly, being married to you is like being married to a child!”

“We’re not married _yet_ , and I’m not _playing_ ,” Songbird complained, dredging a weedy looking green out of his wrap and holding it up for inspection. “These vegetables aren’t very fresh...and that waiter keeps giving us awful looks.”

“It isn’t the best _hasperat,_ ” Julian admitted, poking his own vegetables with a fork. “Must be the heat...It's hard to keep greens fresh in hot weather…”

Garak rolled his eyes. There was no help for it. Julian was unhappy, and the mood wasn’t going to change soon. Their wedding was simply going to have to be considered a practical consideration, rather than a celebration.

“Clearly it must be the weather, and not the bad service,” Garak patted his mouth with his napkin.

“Sure Garak, not another of your past troubles, like that realtor you…ow!” Julian had cuffed Songbird before he could finish the rude little comment.

“Well, I think it's nice,” Ziyal said, trying to diffuse the tension. “Thank you for this wonderful trip, and the house, we are _so_ grateful.”

“Yes, it's been great!” Jake opined. “I mean, I don’t know how to tell dad, and anyway...gosh…”

The awkward conversation and their lunch was eventually stopped by the chef, bringing out the waiter who had been rude to them, so the man would be forced to apologize, and a complimentary fluffy cool whip dessert was put on their table. Apparently the chef had been paying attention from the window of his kitchen and had recognized the _haj a kai._

Their planned trip to search for new lodgings, as it turned out, would be undertaken without their little Piper. Songbird’s agent Shavi, fully recovered from her previous affliction, was waiting for Songbird when they returned to the house.

“Thanks to your generosity, we now have absolutely no money left,” she said flatly, dragging a protesting Songbird inside by the arm. “So I hope you’re ready to travel, and to work your butt off, you need to get back to work, the next concert is in a few days!”

Garak firmly decided that he liked Shavi, very, very much.

\-------

Pok Tal hospital was a miserable place. Buried in dust and infested with weeds, it had become grown over in its neglect, a place of forgotten history and pain. The desert sun was hot on their party as they trekked out to the isolated and humorless place, the gray metal Cardassian structure giving off an air of indifference and apathy at their approach.

“If I believed in ghosts, I would believe this place is haunted,” Julian Bashir said, hating how sad his own voice sounded, and double checking his respiration mask was in place and his bio-hazard suit wasn’t letting in the dust.

“ _Boryhas_ are everywhere here,” said Linga Mordan, who was one of the Bajoran engineers and volunteers Bashir had been able to rustle up from the local community to help with this project. The neighboring towns wanted this place gone, torn down, and something more useful built in its place.

Julian would oblige them. Besides Linga and five other Bajoran volunteers, all dressed in Bio-Hazard gear, Julian had brought down two Starfleet nurses from the station, Peters and Niall, just for the day, wanting some medical staff who would be unbiased as they worked here. He himself wasn’t feeling so unbiased, but he would leave the judgement of the Cardassian empire to the Bajorans...and Garak.

Garak was the odd man out, with his kit of Cardassian engineering tools inside a simple oval pack held on his back with wide straps. Most people would die wearing all black in this desert heat, but he seemed severely comfortable in the burning sun, his face beaming, eyes sparkling with delight in contrast to the task at hand. He had outright refused the bio-hazard suit, but since he would be handling only the computers, and not the bodies, Julian had decided to let him have his way.

“If Bajoran ghosts haunt this structure, I’ll eat my best sewing scissors,” Garak boasted. “This was a Cardassian facility designed to treat Cardassian patients, _only_.”

“Not from what Kai Winn told me,” Julian said, giving his new husband a warning look.

Their wedding had been so brief, it was almost a non-experience now, the lingering remains of that quiet happy morning in the temple over two days ago obliterated in the desert heat. And they hadn’t found a rental nearby, so they would be sleeping in tents. Convenient, but not very romantic.

“I hope you like yamok sauce on your scissors…” said Linga, and the other Bajorans laughed. “We’ve been here a couple times to keep an eye out for thieves...Bajorans were definitely treated in here.”

Garak huffed a little, and followed them into the building with an unwavering step. Julian was immensely grateful that Garak was taking on the stance of the indignant Cardassian apologist today, because it helped him keep his focus on Garak and the Bajorans and not on the increasing anxiety that was moving up his spine from his stomach. He knew he would be facing something terrible in here, and he was not at all prepared for it.

Most of the rooms in the first hallway were empty. Garak set himself up in an empty office near the front door, and Julian let him have at it. Garak worked fast usually, but the computers had been wiped, so restoring all that deleted data would take a lot of time, if it could be done. The two nurses were now moving ahead of Julian through rooms with their own phasers ready, mostly silent. They were trained as Starfleet officers as well as being medical, which was the other reason he wanted them.

“Here sir,” said Peters, and their party moved down the row to the emergency room.

It was empty, the dark operating theater being blasted by outside light from a hole in the ceiling caused by a cave in.

A body, still in process of being operated on, was laying on the table, a decayed and unidentifiable husk, tubes and instruments still attached to the corpse. But all the power in the building had died here long ago. Julian quickly identified, with irony, that this had been an autopsy in progress.

_...Darkness...dust flew up his nose, a skull near his head…_

“And over here!”

Julian was suddenly brought back to his senses, and followed the nurse, if only to avoid looking at the body any more. He soon wished he hadn’t left the room. In the room across from the operating theater was the morgue...the bodies had been sorted here, but during the facility’s last days they had simply been piled up here for disposal…he started counting them.

_...Liquids escaping from dead decaying flesh...blond hair stained black with blood...an Edo child..._

“Oh sweet Prophets,” the Bajoran volunteers were shaking their heads, one of them was chanting a funeral dirge. “What the hell were they doing here?”

Julian approached the bodies, still counting. His heart was pounding, furious palpitations along with the bile that was fluttering up his neck, threatening to escape.

_...Fluttering wings, a flying insect, crawling through an empty eye socket..._

“Keep going,” he croaked. “There were many more listed in the reports!”

The morgue gave way to the crematorium and this was where all hell had at one point broken loose. Hundreds of bodies were on the floor in a heap, some were half shoved into the boxes, laying piled on top of one another on loose gurneys, body parts were sticking out of ovens...an arm on the ledge...a head was sitting on a chair.

_...chanting...arms...legs...sweat...blond hair...but a Bajoran nose..._

“Sweet merciful Jesus!” said Niall, as the present and the past began blending together in Julian’s broken mind.

_...bones...jaw bones, femurs, his own broken ribs, and chanting...chanting…_

“Doctor? Doctor Bashir…?”

_‘He is rising! Rising from the dead!’_

Light, blinding light, the desert heat and the tangle of thorns, his head cover pulled from him just in time for the sickness of bile that he had been holding back to escape through his mouth and nostrils and land squelching onto the paving stones.

Peters had followed him when he had run to the entrance, and they were soon joined by Garak, who held his water canteen out to him as he coughed.

“Garak…” he choked, and accepted the water gratefully. “It...might be harder than I thought to deal with this…this...”

“That is _quite_ obvious,” Garak supported him as he coughed again and drank the water. “Take a break, my dear.”

“Give him a moment,” said Peters to Linga, who had come out after them. “This is...hard for _everyone_ …”

“Genetically engineered sense of smell,” Garak opined and that seemed to placate Linga. “Try to get some fresh air moving through the building…open some windows.”

Not that there was much of a bad smell after years of decay, just the smell of dust...and sorrow. Julian finally came back to his senses and let Garak help him to his feet.

_Post-traumatic stress be damned! I am a Doctor dammit!_

“We need to do an inventory,” he told everyone once they had reassembled outside. “Number of rooms, existing medical equipment, where exactly everything was, pictures and video of everything, and I want everything carefully tagged and numbered. The autopsies will be done in the tent,” they had set up a field medical tent just beyond the hospital, with their crates of supplies set aside. “Every man gets a medical tricorder, some body parts may not be identifiable, we need to label everything…”

“Those parts are people!” Garak looked affronted.

On Cardassia even a finger was considered a person. Julian had to wonder at the fact that Cardassians, who were so careful and taboo about the treatment of bodies, had such robust and advanced medicine.

“Garak, did you make any progress on the computer?” Niall asked, thickly.

“Not yet, I left to rush out here to the doctor’s aid…”

“Then I suggest getting back to it,” Julian said, a little less strongly. “Our autopsies are useless if we don’t have names to put to them…”

Garak huffed, and turned indignantly to head back inside. The Bajorans watched him go with angry looks, and Julian shook his head. Too much, too fast, and he’d have to apologize later. Garak had only been showing concern for him and respect for the dead.

“I need everyone to work together. There’s a basement still and the dormitories. Divide into two teams, one Starfleet with two Bajoran volunteers on each team. Remember to keep hydrated…”

Activity followed that was one part hard physical labor, one part training, and one part sheer courage. The Bajorans bore the weight of carrying the bodies outside without complaint, the nurses talked very little, setting themselves to their tasks of tagging, wrapping and recording everything, and Julian took his stomach firmly in hand as he began the autopsies, identifying the causes of deaths of each body brought out to the medical tent.

They were a third way done with removing bodies from the hospital when Bajorans from nearby villages arrived with packs of cold drinks and food, monks with blessings and prayers for the bodies, and a legal clerk from the capital, who spoke quickly to Julian about the work and when they could expect more information for Shakaar, who was interested in the work they were doing and its potential outcome.

Garak emerged only for the meal, getting severe looks from the locals, but sitting right next to Julian. The spring green salad was such a welcome respite, since it was a light dish, mostly vegetables, not likely to upset his stomach, and there was plenty of bread and jumja juice, in frosty mugs.

No more nightmares returned to him as they continued their work, well into the night, with the last body finally brought out to his work tent, autopsied, numbered, and stored again for later burial. Garak finally emerged again victorious at midnight with the complete record of hospital staff and patients. He had even scraped together a few traces of video surveillance records. Everyone was impressed.

“Tomorrow, I start putting names to faces,” Julian soon found himself crawling into his cot in his sleeping tent. Garak crawled in next to him. “I want a bath, and a corner to cry in.”

“You’ve done well,” Garak soothed him, holding him. “Avur thashan revnu…”

_‘Forever, beloved, my devotion…’_

The simple Cardassian phrase of love was enough to fill in much of the day’s hurts and bring light back to the places of his soul that had been utterly broken. He curled up against Garak’s chest, pressed his face to gray skin and listened to the sound of a living person’s beating heart.

Sleep did not follow easily, for his dark dreams were filled with the piled up remains of millions of Edo, along with the bodies of Bajoran and Cardassian victims of genetic engineering, and in the back of his mind, a voice, the Kai’s, not Winn, but strangely, Kai Opaka, talking, instructing…

_‘Rising...the fire is rising...it burns hot and it fills the soul, but don’t let it burn you, Kaja, you must rise up with it.’_

Kaja was the Bajoran word for renewal. Morning would bring the light of another day, a day of naming and identifying, and endless activity.

But his life would _never_ be the same.

\-----

“Two hundred and forty three,” the PADD landed on her desk, and Doctor Michelle Avery looked up in alarm at the one who had dropped it. Stodgdon had a grim look on his face. “That’s how many of the people we transported to the planet are children, all of them genetically engineered. This isn’t about the parents or the hospitals at all. It’s the children.”

Stodgdon had been kind enough to even give her a desk in the cramped medical suite of his sickbay. _Vesuvius_ didn’t have a sick bay, most of these little ships didn’t have one. Now she had just learned that more ships were coming in from other locations, all of them hospitals and science facilities where illegal Augmentation had taken place. All along the Federation border. Barely any of these hospital worlds had been Federation worlds before now. It was madness!

“I have been on the line for eight hours trying to get through to an Admiral,” Avery said in frustration. “I’ve talked to captains of the other transport ships, almost all of them are civilian ships, with instructions being given by the security personnel assigned to them. All of them have the same instructions. Keep the ‘Augments’ from escaping. The ‘ _Augments'_! It...this thing...its just...its...”

“It's wrong, plain and simple,” Stodgdon sat down heavily in the chair across from hers. “A gathering up of political prisoners. I can’t find any other reason for such an extreme action. We didn’t arrest any of the doctors or nurses at the facilities. It's just the children and their families. In many cases...just the children.”

“I want to see the camp,” Avery said, venom filling her soul. “When I saw that little girl being escorted to the transporter with her parents, when I _still_ couldn’t even guarantee she was stable yet…! As if they don’t care if the children live or die...!”

“They _don’t_ ,” Stodgdon picked up his PADD again. “And the number of security forces beaming to our ships...”

“I’m going down,” Avery sat up, and grabbed a PADD. “They will need regular medical checks…I’m going to find out what’s going on in that place.”

“Be very quick, Michelle,” Stodgdon used her name, their work having made them a little more familiar over the last week and a half. “I heard word they were sending us back to our postings, who knows when we’ll suddenly have to leave...Or they might decide we know too much…”

“Stan…” she used his name, as the severity of the situation, and the reality of it, set in. “Not here. Not the Federation. It _can’t_ be happening here…!”

“It can, and it is!” Stodgedon said fiercely, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You find out as much as you can, we’re witnesses Michelle Avery!! Everyone has to know about this!”

She swallowed hard. Their eyes were warring for long moments, her own mind was racing and determination filled her.

“Avery to bridge, I’m beaming down to the planet...now!”

\-------

The beautiful silver light made a blip on their screen for moments as they watched it zoom passed. Four sets of eyes widened.

“Oh dear,” said Patrick.

“What is _she_ doing here?” Lauren said, wrinkling her nose and lips in distaste.

“Well that wasn’t very nice!” Jack huffed. “She didn’t even stop to say ‘hi’!”

“...”

The small transport they had stolen had been big enough not only for the four of them, but all the other genetically engineered patients of the Institute. The ship’s name was _Escapade_ , which was rather appropriate. There were fourteen adults on board the little ship, and for the most part, they had let the Jack Pack handle everything and had just come along for the ride. But a couple of standouts had decided to help on the bridge.

A rather morose Vulcan named Sylik was watching the security monitor on the wall, his eyes drifting across the images there as if he were looking away into far distances. He was the result of Vulcan parents wanting to get rid of all his non-Vulcan DNA, from a grandparent somewhere in the far past, but he was in a rather sad state of affairs as a result of it. He did manage to suggest a safer course to the new colony, one that would take them far away from the sensor range of Federation starships or outposts, but which did, of course, make them a potential target for folks like the silver ship that had just sped passed them without concern.

A woman with a tangle of extremely long blonde hair and permanently crossed eyes was at another station, face almost touching the panel as she worked out spiral code with careful finger presses, communicating with the thread in the only way that she was able, through tactile feedback from the vibrating touchscreen. She was almost entirely blind. Jack had called her Rapunzel the first time he had seen her, and that was the name she now used for the Thread.

Sarina was sitting at the helm, watching her own PADD as Rapunzel’s messages were conveyed. Tempest had successfully set up communications on the colony, and was complaining now about the number of children that had just been beamed down. They didn’t have the facilities for children. They didn’t even have a replicator.

“Twenty minutes until we reach our destination,” Lauren said in her seductive voice, the ops station almost completely taken up by her body, since she had chosen to lie across the ops console, rather than in the chair. “I suggest we wait for the coast to be clear before beaming down…”

“Oh do you think there’s gonna be trouble?” Patrick said, scared and nervous. Strangers didn’t bother him, but the number of people on the bridge with weapons did. He had been given the job of engineer by Jack.

And of course, Jack was their Captain.

“We can handle it!” Jack with a weapon was something that was scary to everyone, and he was balancing the phaser on his finger tip like a performer balances knives for juggling. “We’re not scared of trouble, right Punzy Punzel Rapunza?”

The blond haired woman lifted her braided head to stick a tongue out of her mouth and then pushed her face back down to the screen when he returned the gesture with a rude one of his own.

“Fifteen minutes until we’re with our friends,” Lauren was clearly not pleased.

“Oh all right, increase speed!” Jack huffed, looking not happy at all as he slumped into his chair.

Sarina had already input the command in anticipation of his assent and the ship had already begun increasing.

“Detecting...phaser...fire…” Sylik said, and then went back to vacantly staring at his reflection in the monitor.

“We’re coming up on the colony,” Lauren said, and her eyes met Jack’s in a moment of serious clarity.

“Okay places people, places!” Jack clapped his hands like a director of a school play, and got up from his chair. “Get ready to beam down those supplies!”

The _Escapade_ came out of warp just in time for its bridge crew to witness the Federation transport _Reckless_ being physically cleaved in two by a flash of silver fury.

“Perhaps we should let her know we’re friendly?” Patrick said, sounding not at all sure. “I mean...she seems very mad.”

“I suggest we beam everyone down to the planet...fast!” Lauren jumped down from her console and triggered the mass beam down code with a tap.

Sarina got up from her chair, the klaxons were now going off all over the little ship.

“Make it so!” said Jack, all of them disappearing in a twinkle of glittering transporter colors as the _Reverence_ exploded through their hull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize until posting that I named a man Stan. Such a typical expendable character name. I imagine after this chapter some guys in some pub somewhere on Earth or elsewhere will be raising a glass and saying 'Poor old Stan, he was a great old bird!'


	16. Embers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure whether or not to make this the first chapter of the next part, or to keep going with this part. I took a break for NaNoWriMo in July and I was really unhappy with where I had left this. This part isn't done, not yet, and its been bugging me. I took the time to go over every single chapter to make sure everything was how I wanted it before continuing, I had forgotten what I had written so far and want to try to put out more polished prose.
> 
> This does not mean I'm not working on my Darkwing Duck fanfic still, I just need to work on this for a little while. Its hard to work on two projects at once.

“Come along now sleepy head, the morning is wasting away…”

Oh, there was nothing more beautiful than a grumpy sleep tousled bird. Or more satisfying for that matter. Garak smiled down into the sleepy eyes of Songbird as he mumbled something non-committal about wanting more time sleeping, and then turned back over in bed. He gave the saucy boy’s bottom another sharp whack, as he had when he came in here to wake him and was rudely told to ‘eff off’.

“Ah, I’m awake!” he flipped over defensively to protect his seat, and Garak noted, with delight, that Julian was leaning in the doorway, barely able to contain himself, arms around his stomach chuckling.

“‘Welcome home’, was more the response I was looking for,” Garak said, leaning down, fully dressed, to press his forehead to the younger man’s own in the Cardassian style of greeting a loved one in the morning. “But that will do.”

“Oh lord, your training has already begun,” Julian shook his head, wiping a tear away from his eyes.

“Training?” Songbird looked up at Garak in horror. “Not that...Cardassian family roles thing you were talking about? I’m not gonna be the housewife in this family!”

“Later,” Julian said before Garak could argue against the idea of the third spouse being a housewife. “We’ll negotiate roles or what have you later. I want breakfast and we just got back from forty eight hours of pure hell. How are your concert tour plans going?”

“They are not,” Songbird got up, naked and stalked over to his pack to start looking for clothes. “Deep Space Nine is under lockdown again and Dad said I’m stuck here. But at least Bajor loves me. My concert in the capital last night was amazing. I wish you were there!”

“Lockdown?”

“A Faction ship attacked the _Sentinel_ , and destroyed some Federation transports…But the Thread says the transports were the ones transporting Augments to the camp. So there you have it.”

Julian shared a look with Garak, then left the room to go contact the station from the shuttlecraft. Garak was left alone with Songbird. Somewhere underneath he could hear Ziyal and Jake, pointedly working at getting breakfast ready from the replicator they had set up in the kitchen. Shavi was fast asleep inside the shuttle where she had insisted she was going to stay rather than the house and the excessive heat of a Bajoran summer. Since she was ill, she had a very good reason to be fussy. They had moved their borrowed shuttle behind their yard in the space between their neighborhood and the reservoir and Julian had helped hook up the whole house to the shuttle’s engines until they could get the house hooked up to the planet’s more advanced power grid. A few neighbors had helped in exchange for getting shared support for their own requests to join the grid. Grid power was allotted on a case by case basis, and Jake, being the Emissary’s son, had still been told it would be a week until someone could come help them. A solar panel would probably have been a faster cheaper option, but not as reliable in the long term.

“Now, Songbird,” Garak said, and he saw the light of warning in the younger man’s eyes. “We need to talk about your tendency to shirk responsibility, throw money away impulsively, and dress outlandishly…”

“Not changing the way I dress…” Songbird said. “Outlandish fashion is a part of my brand.”

“I was going to add, ‘off stage’ but nonetheless, I think you could use some more subdued looks for…"

“For what? A funeral?” interrupted Songbird, who looked frantic for a moment. Clothes clearly really mattered to this young man. “Look, I understand that in Cardassian family groups of three, one person is the head of the family, its provider, one person is the caretaker of the family, the mother, and one is the obedient one, like a servant, always doing as told. I am not going to be the obedient one, and you aren’t going to be either. We just might not fit nicely into the traditional Cardassian roles.”

“I didn’t say we had to, but we can compromise,” Garak winced as the blunt youth hit the serious issue right on its nefarious head. “I’m providing most of the income now that you’ve spent all yours. But Julian is clearly in charge. It's going to be a balancing act.”

“I totally respect your need to follow the tradition, I get it,” Songbird was finally dressed, and he was a mess. He didn’t match at all. A purple shirt over a brown jumpsuit? “But it's not something we’re going to figure out overnight. And I have to get ready for the next concert, and you should know by now from experience that it does take up all my day preparing to go on stage.”

“Well you will not be preparing whilst wearing _that_ ,” Garak decided to put his foot down. “You look worse than a Bajoran Nurse. At least change the top to something like yellow or orange. Compliment your colors a little more. Purple on brown is such a clearly Ferengi aesthetic choice, Bajorans like warm earthy colors...”

He was right, obviously. But Songbird glared at him, and Garak crossed his arms to solidify the point.

“I’m the tailor. And you have done nothing but complain about Julian’s fashion sense, yet won’t accept any criticism of your own.”

“Fine!” Songbird dropped the top and pulled out the first yellow thing he had found in his pack, a hot fuzzy sweater. Why he had packed that was anyone’s guess. “Better?”

“No, you’ll sweat to death, let me look at what you have…”

Julian must have been highly amused, coming back into the room from getting his report, to find Songbird going through all of their packs of clothing wearing Garak’s light oversize cotton shaping shirt, the Cardassian tailor looking rightly distraught to be dressing himself in whatever the younger man handed him.

“I didn’t think it would be possible, but the tailor is being dressed by his customer!” Garak complained.

“You should experiment with styles outside the Cardassian aesthetic more!” Songbird complained. “Dark colors aren’t always becoming, you know. How about something red? Or, oooh, isn’t blue an important color to Cardassians? Julian likes teal blue...or green...ooooh!”

Garak was alarmed, and yet mentally amused, and a little pleased, when Julian once again started to laugh his head off.

“Well at least you’re enjoying this!” he huffed, but his eyes were smiling in a way that hopefully showed that he was not really displeased.

“I am, this is adorable. You two are such clothes horses, you make the Kai’s wardrobe look tame.”

And then a conspiratorial look entered Songbird’s eyes, and Garak raised his eye ridge a little, and soon the Doctor found himself subjected to being redressed by his two very fashion savvy husbands.

It was a wonder that any of them got any breakfast.

\--------

“I’m consciously aware of how difficult it has been for Starfleet to find people to command starships,” Commander Data said, as he walked down the hallways of the starship _Connecticut_. “This, however, is a more circuitous route to the one I had been planning to return to the _Enterprise_. Was no ship available that was going directly to the Demilitarized Zone?”

“Well,” the young lieutenant helping him with his luggage was very gracious. “Everyone is on alert right now for that strange ship that attacked the _Sentinel_. We have to take safer transport routes for ferry duty to reach her, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you,” he entered the guest quarters, accepted her help with his things, and then kindly dismissed her, promising to visit the captain of the ship as soon as he’d had a chance to sonic shower and run diagnostics on his systems.

It had become a new habit of his that he was trying to break to always take a shower every day. Habits were the newest bit of programming that he was now having to deal with. On top of being able to experience fevers and headaches, and the other discomforts brought on by the changes to his neural net, habits were the newest of a series of ‘human’ personality traits he was having to contend with. You couldn’t be human, apparently, without forming habits, good or bad, of some kind.

_But this fever...is not a part of my conventional programming. Why am I having these headaches and fevers? This should not be possible...yet here we are._

Needing to clean himself every day was a ‘good’ habit he had formed on Vulcan that he hadn’t realized was a habit and not just a result of simply wanting to be wherever Savil was, even when she was in the shower. Technically he didn’t need to sonic shower more than once a month, unless he was excessively soiled from his duties, his synthetic skin was capable of remaining clean and resisted such things, and he did not shed skin cells the way humans did.

Nonetheless, things were a little different now. Now he was mentally looking at his skin and thinking he needed to bathe, despite his ability to function well without it.

_This is considered a good habit by humans...but it is not one of the things I like about my new programming changes…would this then make it...a bad habit?_

As more obvious parts of his programming slowly unlocked with his maturing mind, so did more subtle things. Like the beauty he was now seeing in certain color combinations that brought a feeling of joy. His sky blue preference had been the first sign of his growing awareness of aesthetics. He was also developing a palate for certain foods, and preferred certain drinks over others. Herbal tea was preferable to him than the captain’s beloved Earl Gray.

He found himself fancying a cup of chamomile as he unpacked a few items he would need for the two day trip out to rendezvous with Enterprise. He wouldn’t be on the ship for long, but the convoy route was so thick now with ships under guard for transport that he wondered, mentally, if they were becoming more, not less, of a target for attack.

He stubbornly didn’t take the sonic shower, wanting to thwart this part of his programming and nip it in the bud. Instead he simply brushed his hair out and changed his uniform. He no longer preferred the stiff slicked look of before for his hair, enjoying a bit more fullness in length, a little more of a side part, and he knew that he was going to make a few eyes turn. Savil had certainly appreciated it.

Another thought ran through his mind as he sat down at the suite’s console and began inputting his codes for his mailbox.

_Being a married man, with an adopted child...My decision to register Vulcan as my new home world. I have been an Omicron Theta ‘native’ for a very long time. I am setting down roots, as the expression goes. Am I not?_

He was also thinking silently to himself in this way, as if there was someone inside him who could respond. And considering he had the memories of two other androids and an entire colony to work with, that was probably true. This was a very important thing to note as he inspected his mailbox. And tapped in the encryption sequences very cautiously into the console to connect him to his message and thus the Thread itself.

He stared. That last letter from Tempest had been unnerving enough but this...

_Dreamer - Our whole family is now comfy cozy and cuddled together in our new happy home. But our new Doctor friend says she needs more supplies to make it more safe of a home for the children. We had to dig a sad hole in the ground for a little girl to sleep in. Rapunzel got the replicators running, so Tempest has his pizza. Also, there was another total eclipse last night. - Fury, Romance, Laughter and Silence_

Someone had turned the Colony 53 communications controls over to the four leaders of the Institute group, and messages from other people in the group were now coming through all of them complaining about the silver ship that destroyed the transports trying to reach Colony 53, some with Augments still on board. Rebirth’s leader, in short, was cutting her claim over the quadrant in broad strokes, only concerned for her own faction’s members.

_So then...there’s no pulling out of this now…_

Once again, he sent a message to the Jack Pack, as The Thread called them, very firmly telling them to confer with Maestro for continued support. He had to continue following his plans, and to trust that he was on the right path, and very quickly he typed out a new message, to someone else.

_Spider - I’m transferring full administrative access to the thread to you and releasing it from my control. I feel that I am unable to continue acting as neutral arbitration. I hope you are able to find qualified neutral administrators in the future to take on my duties. - Dreamer_

But all he could feel, as he contemplated the bulk of encrypted messages in front of him that he would have to go through and respond to, was despair.

_To choose...to choose between my own wife and child, and this...thing...that is gripping me and controlling me...and forcing me in the direction it wants me to take...this fever..._

He no longer felt that he had any choice other than to follow, and he knew this was dangerous.

His ethical program, too, was changing as a result of his maturity, loosening its restrictions and giving him more freedom over moral and ethical decisions, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He wasn’t sure he had formed enough experiences to guide him through the moral minefield he was now about to cross.

He also realized that he was shaking. His body was burning...Burning... 

_I wanted to be human. Now I have to make the most human decision of all. To stay the same, safe, happy, content. Or to soar with the rising fire inside me and maybe lose it all. If I believed in any gods then maybe I would pray. But I don’t. My God is flesh and blood and bone. Human. Maybe I no longer know what I believe in._

He took a deep breath, and gripped hard on the console to steady himself.

_Many humans have religion, this is just all a part of my programming. A different way of seeing the world through a human lens. I have to trust that Doctor Soong knew what he was doing and stay the course. Humans all have a crisis of faith at some point or another._

A human being might have cried at such a revelation. But the android called Data only turned off his console, and got up to go take a sonic shower before he could change his mind.

\-----------

“All right, I admit, I’m not much of a leader,” said Felix Knightly, standing toe to toe with Doctor Michelle Avery in the barracks, surrounded by worried parents, and the group of genetically damaged augments that had brought them relief in terms of some basic supplies and replicators. They hadn't been able to beam down much before their ship was destroyed. “But I _am_ a genetically engineered man.”

“And that qualifies you more than a Starfleet Doctor?”

“I have an IQ of 283, in comparison, to, the average, of around 130 for a Federation doctor, if that is what you mean?”

“Are you saying,” she put her hands on her hips, looking highly offended as she smiled, a sarcasm in her stance and words that belied her smile. “That your vastly superior mind makes you more qualified to lead instead of a Starfleet trained and educated officer of over thirteen years service?”

“Hallelujah!” said one of the parents.

Many of the parents, treacherously, had sided with her. The funeral of Haley Joy Ramirs had spooked them all very very badly, spooked them into forgetting that they had turned their children into the very thing he was. An Augment.

“It will be the only thing Moon and her crew will show _any_ respect for,” he said, and put his own hands on his own hips. “Chances are that if she does, mercifully, provide us with the materials we requested from her, she will want to speak to the leader. And the leader she will be looking for is an Augment. And chances are that if she does decide to rescue us, anyone who isn’t an Augment, or even an improperly engineered Augment,” he looked over at Jack and his still undecided group. “Will either be killed outright, or put in the brig of her ship. Unless there is an Augment in charge who she has reason to respect. I’m wholly not certain she will respect me, but I’m the best you have got in terms of...Augments,” he gave Jack a look, which the man returned by sticking out his tongue like a child.

“How can we trust _you_ then?” said Avery. “How can we trust that as an Augment you wouldn’t be in league with this dangerous woman?”

_Jesus Christ. This woman was so supportive of the children too...she’s gonna get one rude wake up call when she really starts getting to know them…_

“Look, I’m a holo-writer, okay?” he said, feeling his annoyance turning intro frustration. “A programmer. I’m not a revolutionary. I prefer an easy life, and that isn’t what this is. I didn’t like burying a child. I didn’t like hunting targs. I didn’t like having to shock my hands trying to rewire these buildings to provide warmth for everyone, but I did it. I could do it again if I had to. I don’t _want_ to work with Moon. She isn’t my first choice. But if you want to get those medical supplies you asked for, then for the time being, they might have to get here through her. She wants to keep the Federation from making this planet into a concentration camp for Augments, regardless of the cost, destroying ships without concern for who might be on them. We make this into a proper colony for Augments, willingly, and she will no longer have reason to fight.”

“Or else she’ll just destroy us from the sky,” Jack piped up, unhelpfully.

“She would have done so by now…” said another voice, and that was Remina, looking quietly contemplative and sitting alone on a bunk nearby, away from all the parents. “I think we should wait a little longer, and see what the other Factions will do.”

Felix frowned a little, and looked over at Rapunzel, who had finally taken the Thread console away from Jack and his friends long enough that the rest of them now had communications access. Those four had been hogging it since they arrived. And Jack, with his phaser and lack of mental control, was severely dangerous.

But Remina had mentioned the Factions. It didn’t surprise him in any way that she was a member at her young age, they certainly had ways of finding young blood for recruitment. But which one was she in? There were twelve on the treaty, and some smaller groups that had cropped up since. Maybe she was in The Thread?

“A few more days,” Rapunzel suddenly said, and put her hand onto the console, her head tilted, the ancient audio receiver headpiece that came with the vintage PADD being a godsend for the nearly entirely blind augment. “He’s been delayed…”

“Who is?”

“A friend of theirs,” said Tempest with a snort. “Who will hopefully be arranging to send us the supplies that you asked for. He’ll just have to deal with Moon first.”

“Or be blown up,” said Jack, again not being helpful. “I think Tempest makes a good leader, even though he’s a wimp.”

And like dominos the fourteen disabled Augments all decided to side with him, making the point moot. If anybody wanted to communicate with the outside world, it would be through them. Nobody else was capable of using the Thread.

“Well,” Avery crossed her arms. “What choice do I have? But when the Federation gets back here…”

“Lady,” Jack huffed. “The Federation wanted us here in the first place and we’re here. Why would they care what happens now?”

“They lost transport ships...” Felix said, cutting in. “Moon moves fast, and those ships were needed to supply Federation battleships fighting the Dominion. Admiral Novos really screwed the pooch here and I’m really really looking forward to seeing justice done to him.”

“If I were you, I’d be more worried right now about the Children,” said Lauren, and she flipped her hair, her eyes burning with fierceness and loathing that spoke volumes as to her true intent.

She wasn’t talking about the children in this colony.

\----------

Ethan Locken’s face was glowing white with sweat as he approached. Anxiety was filling his breastbone, concern that his condition was showing. But, not wanting to reveal his intent, he schooled his features into a placating smile and approached the milling groups of the Federation member world representatives that were currently flocking around Jaresh-Inyo like butterflies to a rose. He was laughing, shaking human hands in the human style, and bowing or gesturing where appropriate. This man knew his member worlds, and the people on them, their customs and their greetings, like he knew his hands and feet. And it had taken many careful weeks of preparation to get to the point where Locken would be a welcome visitor to Jaresh-Inyo, and his aides, all of them assured completely that Ethan Locken was the Federation’s foremost medical expert on Augments and their behavior and that he was the one to trust for information.

And this morning, finally, he had been summoned by Jaresh-Inyo to meet before the next session of the Federation Council. He waited at a respectful distance, and kept his hands firmly in his pockets. He only had a short transmission period, and he wanted to rush, he was aching to rush, but didn’t dare socialize with anyone else, he couldn’t risk too many people in this room becoming infected too quickly.

He had to ensure that when following evidence of the transmission period backwards, it wouldn’t lead to him. Thus he had left it until the last stage to approach the President himself.

A man was standing next to Jaresh-Inyo, looking sullen, his froggy features barely human, and hardly worth his consideration. But Locken was certain that even if he did shake hands with Admiral Novos, the man’s human DNA would fight it off well, despite his obesity, and he’d be down almost a week with the illness. Ethan was counting on his genetic engineering to mask his illness and keep him from suspicion. Humans were borderline empathic, something no Betazed or Vulcan would openly admit unless confronted on it. ESP levels in some humans could be very high, high enough to affect them when confronted by other empath level beings.

But they were not empathic enough for this virus to be deadly. This was a virus designed with full telepaths in mind, Betazoids and the like. He had always avoided telepaths as much as possible in his work, and still wasn’t confident that he could fool them if he was in a conversation with one. He could block empaths well enough, masking emotions like maleficence with a neutral emotion like joviality. Telepaths were harder, since they’d be confused as to why they couldn’t read the thoughts of a simple human mind. Learning to show a telepath what you wanted to see was an entire section of Section 31’s training school.

“Doctor, I’m glad you made it, I wanted to talk to you before the next session began…”

A soft hand, almost squishy, like the nose of a newborn calf, took him with a firm grip of greeting, Jaresh-Inyo’s eyes taking a moment of concern, rather than disgust, at the sweat transferred to his palm.

“My apologies, I ran here as soon as I got a free moment. It's been a busy day…”

Jaresh-Inyo wasn’t empathic per se, but his species was empathic capable, evolving in the direction of empathy, at that stage in his people’s biological development that he had the right areas of his brain and central nervous system capable of accepting offered empathic transmissions, not yet capable of sending, or sensing them actively. This was key.

“It has,” Jaresh-Inyo’s head nodded at him, completely oblivious to the severe nature of their handshake. “I don’t want to keep you too long, Novos was making a suggestion to me earlier, to put you in charge of the situation in a more official way…I know you’re a doctor, not command level, but these are uncertain times, after all...”

 _Cheers…_ Locken grinned as he accepted the offer to oversee the ‘project’ of Colony 53, as it were. _Now to make sure the colony gets those medical supplies...and Moon...gets a very very big wake-up call as to who is really in charge here._

“My first suggestion,” Locken said, when he was sure their trio wasn’t being listened in on. “Is to send a Starship to provide security to the area and more officers and supplies to the...colony.”

“I suggest the _Sutherland_ ,” Novos added immediately, and his nose rose into the air with a smug grin of satisfaction.

_If that man knew I was an Augment...and what I had just done…_

This particular virus wouldn’t kill Jaresh-Inyo. It was fatal only to telepaths. An assassination would have been too obvious, and cause too much trouble anyway. Otherwise Sloan wouldn’t have asked a doctor to step in, he would have just sent an assassin and been done with it.

But this virus would certainly disable the President and force him to step down from leadership prematurely so that the Vice President would have to step in for the remainder of the elected term. Not very long, but Annar Bulat, the Vice president, was likely to run for office when the next term was called, and he was a far more reasonable replacement, as far as Section 31 was concerned. At least until they could get someone who was more openly friendly to 31 positioned for the job. For now, Bulat was their guy.

 _But you never know,_ Ethan Locken slipped out of the room, consciously aware of a thousand movements of hands and feet and eyes moving and turning and considering him as he slipped away. _Someone might come out of the shadows and give 31 a terrible run for their money. I would like to see that._

\------------

Nikola Shane was on her knees when Ethan Locken entered the holosuite, her eyes focused entirely on the iridescent sphere of glowing light in front of her, which only trembled lightly at his arrival. She refocused and turned the sphere back into the glowing blue she preferred, but there was a silver edge to it that betrayed her lack of control.

“Were you successful?”

“Yes,” said Locken, walking a circuit around the sphere, as if he was trying to break her perfect focus. She knew he was nervous. “He should be bedridden by tomorrow night or the next, it takes twenty-four hours.”

“And you are absolutely sure you won’t get any blame?”

Nikola didn’t trust Ethan Locken. She wasn’t born yesterday, after all, this man had been in Section 31 a long time before taking over leadership of their Faction. He had presence, was well loved by their members, and jovial, but she was concerned about his own motivations.

“I certainly shook enough empath’s hands this week to deflect any blame. The patients will be piling up at Starfleet Medical soon, and my lack of being openly ill or bedridden will keep them from suspecting me. With any luck Novos will be bedridden too, it's harder for humans to catch it, fortunately.”

“So now...are we done with Section 31?”

“They still have their uses,” Locken countered. “I would hesitate to break off ties completely just yet.”

Nikola felt her aggravation growing as the Altonian brainteaser flickered and trembled.

“You are far too deep into their organization...”

“You can’t be in 31 unless you are in deep. But Sloan has been very helpful with my search for the holo-doctor engineer, innocent in his own way…”

Nikola briefly reassessed her opinion of Locken, as the sphere trembled and swirled with the colors of her changing moods. He wasn’t divided in his loyalties. He was exploitative of the loyalties of others.

“Just don’t stay with them too long...though I imagine it will be hard to leave.”

“Very hard. You’re expected to undergo a memory wipe. But...I hope to leave without them realizing I’ve gone.”

Nikola nodded. For the moment, she was satisfied, and the sphere was no longer trembling. Its color was still unsteady, she was still unfocused.

“So what next?”

“Novos convinced Jaresh-Inyo to put me in charge of Colony 53. All those little young Augments ready for recruitment...the Sutherland will be on the way to counter Moon and if she behaves the way she’s been behaving all week then Rebirth will become the primary target of the Federation and the other Factions will look to us for leadership instead.”

“Children for the Children of Khan?” Nikola smiled, and the iridescent sphere began to solidify into her favorite blue. “It sounds reasonable to me.”


	17. Silent Witness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been hating italics, and decided to capitalize the Bajoran religious titles instead. Bajoran names are hard to come up with. The writers on DS9, I envy their talents.

Vedic Noss Korso slipped silently up the secret stairs, the curtains and a false wall hiding him and his steps as he carefully ascended into the Kai’s chambers, eyes focused on the stairwell ahead of him. He was old, his legs sometimes trembled and this servant's stair was less well lit than it had been in Opaka’s time.

_She’s certainly tight with her purse..._

Kai Winn claimed she wanted to save energy for Bajor. Noss, not being a servant, had not been aware of how much more of her expenses went into her own comforts than the needs of the house until he had first started peeking into the kitchens in hope of finding his way into the servant’s good graces. Once he had discovered the situation with the poorly funded staff, he had no problem bribing the affronted servants with money to allow him to eavesdrop in this way. He had promised, due to his age, that he was no threat to the woman, and he was not known to be close to Kai Winn’s rivals in the Vedic Assembly, who were trying to find any reason to push her out of office. He had been surprised at how quickly the servants had accepted him and agreed to let him spy.

 _The Restoration is so very close at hand. People are now much more divided about Winn as Kai...It only needs a few signs from one man...a man the Kai will be meeting today, I must be there!_

In truth, he would do anything to get Kai Winn gone. But proof would be needed before other members of the Assembly would seriously consider the petition of Els Renora, officially on her own way to Earth for Ambassadorial duty. With the number one advocate for the Restoration out of the way, they would be very easily stifled in their attempt.

_Proof. Proof is all I need. Proof from the man himself._

He had been approached for this task by specific members of the Assembly due to his incredible knowledge of the Restoration text and its importance to the prophecies concerning the Emissary. He knew what proof to look for, they only needed a bit more proof to convince the Assembly to summon the Haj a Kai for testing.

The door was here. He listened carefully, scanned with the device in his pocket, and when he was certain the room was empty, slipped in and found his secret hiding place behind the scroll cabinet where Winn now kept the most important prophecies concerning the Kai. She hadn’t done so before, but had given the order to bring all these scrolls here once Els had made her intentions known.

Fortunately, the scrolls of the Kaj were not kept here. As soon as she had spoken the keepers of those protected texts had hidden them for protection from potential alteration. A petition for consideration of the Haj a Kai could not be risked without actual proof. So far all they had was Els’s personal declaration that Bashir had been reborn from death, and some medical proof from the Federation, which Bashir had been very reluctant to share, only because he hadn’t wanted to offend the Bajorans who supported the idea of his being the Kaj a Kai. He himself did not think he was.

 _I need proof,_ Noss carefully checked the recording devices he had left here, to transfer the recordings to the one he had brought with him, then set the device to recording again. _Now to wait…_

It wasn’t long before the Kai entered her office. This room in her house was for purely Kai related activities, and she was very routine, she never changed locations for these meetings with others. She always met them as the Kai, in the Kai’s office, not in her personal parlor, which would have been too friendly, or her private rooms, too provocative. This was where she met with people she was on a professional level with, and hopefully she hadn’t changed her routine just for Bashir.

The doctor was a little late though, and Kai Winn was clearly nervous. She paced a little, didn’t sit right away, but instead went to the cabinet and pulled something out. He wasn’t watching, but he knew, from previous recordings, that she was researching the Restoration herself, wanting to know every last possible method for removing her and finding ways to thwart her opponents at every turn.

_‘A snake in her hole will coil, always ready to strike.’_

He mentally repeated the old verse, altering the ‘its’ to a ‘she’ in his mind, in reference to the person in the room. He kept his breathing as light as possible to not be overheard, had used a medical device to numb the nerves in his nose so he wouldn’t sneeze, and unless he was choking to death, a tickle in his throat would not cause him to cough. It was uncomfortable, but it was manageable, and he had a mantra to recite as the hours passed waiting for her to leave.

There was a knock on the door, suddenly, and he almost breathed out a sigh of relief, holding his breath, like a tomb holds its sleeping resident.

“Enter.”

Kai Winn’s sweet, false voice was like a lance to him, but the voice that followed it with the opening of the door was almost the very opposite of everything she was.

“I apologize Kai Winn, for being late, the fault is entirely mine,” said the man, Bashir, and Noss could hear the Kai immediately rise.

“No apologies are needed Doctor, please stand there for a moment…”

It was very rude for the Kai to refer to the Haj a Kai by the title of ‘doctor’ rather than ‘Haj’ or ‘healer’. But Bashir, being an atheist, would have no objections, and would probably be grateful that she respected him by forgoing the religious title. Noss knew otherwise, and dared to peek around the edge of the cabinet for a look.

Bashir was practically gritting his teeth as the Kai held his earlobe, her eyes closed, her breathing steady. One thing he could say for her, she did have one of the gifts of the Kai, one that many Vedics also had, and the source for the holding of earlobes. The Sensing of Feelings. Perhaps she was adept because people who were around her always had very strong feelings in one way or another.

“I still sense much hesitation in you, you doubt your purpose. The Prophets have a reason for everything, and you are a part of their plan for Bajor,” she let go of his earlobe and Noss quickly pulled back his head before he could be spotted. “I am very much pleased with the work you’ve been doing, and have no reason to remove you from my service as Haj,” her tone had changed from spiritual guide to politician in a heartbeat. “How much have you been able to discover so far?”

“Quite a bit, and I’m afraid none of it is good,” Bashir admitted. “The Cardassians weren’t alone in their work, they had implicit help from Bajoran doctors with their genetic research. Experimentation going back as far as the start of the Occupation.”

“That is troubling…”

“I have put it all in my report to Minister Shakaar, which I’m sure he’ll be sharing with the council soon. The Cardassians could spin what happened as a joint effort, and lay blame on Bajor for the experimentation that took place there.”

“We’ll have to proceed carefully then. I’ll contact the Minister later today. Well,” she seemed to sigh. “I suppose you must do your official duty as Haj a Kai while you are here and examine me. But my health is perfectly fine.”

“Certainly. But it doesn’t hurt to check,” the sound of him immediately opening a medical tricorder hit his ears and Noss was stunned, and almost laughed.

The Haj a Kai was the only person permitted to touch the Kai for reasons of medical examination, but with modern technology it wasn’t necessary, making the title more honorary than anything, if not for the prophecies concerning the Kaj. But Bashir was very quick with his tricorder, for him it was probably second nature, and was probably unaware of how rude it would be considered to scan someone with a device who was traditionally only barely subject to examination under the most delicate circumstances. 

“Hmmm…”

“Doctor?”

“Well, you are in fact in very good health,” he said, clearly trying to inject good humor into the moment. “Just let me know if anything does concern you.”

“I certainly shall, Doctor, thank you. You may go.”

He left, and Kai Winn returned to her careful study, long enough for Bashir to have left the property, before taking her scrolls and her research with her up to the private chambers, which she wasn’t, technically, supposed to do. But most Kais did. This office could be very uncomfortably hot during the day.

Noss took a deep breath, then transferred all the new recordings to the device he was carrying. Nothing that he could hear seemed right, but the cameras might relay something else. It was…

Well disappointing. The true Kai was supposed to somehow recognize a false Kai and reveal them, but neither had done anything of the kind.

_But maybe that is the proof. Kai Winn did not disprove Bashir as her Haj, and he did not disprove her as a Kai. Not under these circumstances. He wasn’t really in a position to question her after all..._

She had asked him to accept his fate, and he was still wavering. Maybe the timing wasn’t right. And there were other proofs to consider that didn’t need a Vedic witness or for the current Kai to be present.

With very little light left in the day, and not much time left to find the evidence, he carefully found his way back to the kitchen and gathered up his remaining recordings and left.

But time was running out. A petition phase only lasted so long. If the Haj was not approved for testing come winter, the Kai could very much destroy any future attempt to supplant her just by keeping a defeated Haj as her Haj. Unless she died. Or, like Kai Opaka, was imprisoned in another world.

And that was a sobering consideration that filled him with a bone chilling cold. If it had come to this idea of assassination and exile of a sitting Kai, then they would need all the help the Prophets could give them.

\--------

“I’m dead tired,” Julian said, flopping onto the bed next to a sleeping Songbird, completely aware that Garak was spread out blissfully naked under the window on a cot, the heat of the slowly sinking sunset coloring his scales a beautiful blue. “But I’m glad this is all over and done. _And_ I returned ownership of the hospital back to the Vedic Assembly, with my thanks. I don’t want it. Really don’t want it.”

“We’ll manage without it,” Garak said, sounding very disappointed to lose so much property. “Don’t worry.”

What Julian wanted were those scales for himself. And cold blood. He hated this hot weather, and he was an Augment. Heat made Garak blissfully happy. It only made Julian cranky.

“Did the Kai have anything important to tell you at least?”

“No, but she didn’t seem upset that I had reported to Shakaar first,” he sighed, and decided not to wake Songbird, who hadn’t moved an inch on the bed; he was naked too, not a stitch of clothes on him, and sweating in the sweltering heat.“She has good intentions for the hospital, but I think more so she was getting used to the Cardassians sending Bajor money and supplies with their reparations, and now those payments have ended and she’s looking for more.”

“But that’s the Minister’s job, not hers…” Songbird mumbled, proving that no Augment could sleep through two people talking in the room where he was sleeping.

_As if anyone but a Cardassian could sleep in this heat…_

September on Bajor was a boiling affair. But this was not normal. Summer was only starting here, and it was already hotter than Cardassia in spring. 

“She did try to become the planet’s leader, and she advises Shakaar constantly, I’m afraid,” he said, feeling his frustration growing.

“She certainly has her claws grasped tightly onto the seat of Bajoran power,” Garak commented ponderously.

“Jewel should become the Kaj a Kai,” Songbird mumbled blandly. “Then she would be gone.”

“I am not becoming the Kai of Bajor!” Julian said.

“What is this?” said Garak, completely oblivious. “How exactly would Julian become the Kai of Bajor?”

“Songbird has been reading the Bajoran prophecies surrounding the Haj a Kai,” Julian complained as he started stripping for bed. “I’ll let _him_ tell you all about it.”

“The Bajoran prophecies state that one day there will come the Kaj a Kai, the reincarnation of a past Kai,” Songbird yawned. “Who is supposed to be the left hand of the Prophets. The Emissary is the right hand.”

“Ambassador Els thinks that because of my death and regeneration I must be the Kaj a Kai,” Julian said. “And for some insane reason Songbird thinks I should accept her crazy idea.”

“It's not crazy, it's sensible,” Songbird sat up. “Rebirth is the first sign of the Kaj, you can’t fault her for that. What happened to you is the most scientifically proven instance of rising from the dead the Federation now has on record so even science doesn’t refute it.”

“I am not a reborn Kai,” Julian said bluntly. “The Kaj is supposed to remember his or her past life, after all. And I’m not staying on Bajor to teach religion, I’m a Doctor, not a Messiah.”

“Indeed not,” Garak said with amusement, chuckling, and Julian briefly wondered if he should smack the man or kiss him.

“The Kaj isn’t a Kai, he’s the left hand of the Prophets and, along with the Emissary, he is meant to leave Bajor,” Songbird was clearly just waking up, and very serious about his idea. “He is supposed to give the teachings of the Prophets to non-believers. But once the Kaj leaves Bajor, the office of the Kai is dissolved and the Vedic Assembly becomes democratic and self-governing until the Kaj returns. And the past Kai must retire and go into isolation and meditation, away from the world. It gets rid of her.”

“We are not playing politics with the religious beliefs of Bajor just to get rid of one unpleasant person!” Garak stated. “Can you just at least admit that Julian is clearly not any sort of reincarnated religious leader?”

“But he _could_ be for all we know,” Songbird grabbed his pants from the floor. “The Prophets are real highly evolved energy beings, living in the wormhole, outside of time. And they do talk to the ‘Emissary’ as they are meant to under Bajoran understanding, and he has been protecting Bajor and sharing their messages to them, as he’s supposed to. What if this is the same thing?”

“I doubt the Bajoran Prophets want the Doctor to preach their message to the rest of the Alpha Quadrant,” Garak huffed, finding his own pants at last. “You are being extremely obtuse for an Augment.” 

Julian was miserably aware now that the two naked men he had come home to were wearing clothes again. He hated his life.

“But he doesn’t have to preach to the Alpha Quadrant, just the Factions.”

“What???” Julian and Garak both said it at the same time.

“Have you lost your mind?” Julian said, and pointedly took off his shirt, as if to overstate the point that getting dressed when he was ready for bed was not what had been hoping for when he returned.

“Jesus Christ, Julian, you’re an Augment, you have the ability to calculate statistical probabilities down to the most microscopic detail. The Factions are _leaderless_ and going to war over who should _lead_ them,” he rounded the bed, and came over to his side to look him straight in the eyes, and Julian was suddenly quite aware of how cramped the small room really was. “Couch the Bajoran teachings in more atheist friendly terms on The Thread, and get yourself noticed and maybe put in charge of one of the Factions. Like you promised Admiral Ross and Captain Sisko you’d try to do. Or have you changed your mind?”

Julian blanked. He looked at Songbird for long moments.

“The heat must be getting to him,” Garak said, “Clearly he’s losing his sanity.”

“It’s genius really if you think about it,” Songbird said, frustrated, hot, and clearly no longer caring what they thought as he searched his packs for a shirt. “You’d have to wait until winter starts, after all, for the Trials Of The Kaj. But you start by teaching Augments to farm cooperatively, respect nature, and the old ‘Thou Shalt Not Kill’ sort of stuff, gain some supporters in the Factions, gather information for the Admirals about Faction activities, and at the same time get rid of that absolute shrill bitch that you and everyone on DS9 keeps complaining about, and all the cards will be in your hands. And the Bajorans will be better off for it. The Factions have often protected smaller worlds that have Augment leaders. If you stake a claim here they will leave this place alone. With its status as the world with the wormhole, right now Bajor is a ripe political target with multiple potential conquerors. Someone needs to protect them when the Federation runs back for the border. You _know_ they will. Bajor’s agreement with the Federation is starting to fall apart. You are proof of it.”

Garak’s eyeridge was at his hairline. Julian had almost had enough of the whole thing, frustration over his own situation starting to build up. And he would have responded in some way if Shavi hadn’t walked in, ignoring all three half-naked men, hands on hips, glaring daggers at Songbird.

“You have a venue booked tonight, and you aren’t dressed, and I don’t care what important conversation you are having, I want you ready to go in ten minutes, you can sonic shower on the Shuttlecraft on the way! Let’s go!”

Songbird gave Julian an apologetic kiss on the cheek, then grabbed his shirt and left the room, but stopped at the door.

“Just think about it, without dismissing everything off hand just because you have this fatalistic need to prove yourself horrifically unworthy of everything wonderful you’ve accomplished in your life. You aren’t going to become a tyrant superman Khan wannabe by teaching Augments how to love their neighbors. Bajorans have been calling you Haj a Kai all week and showing you so much respect, and I think you deserve it for all the kindness you’ve shown them. Really I do.”

He left the room, with Garak rolling his eyes and Julian mentally feeling like his world was coming to the end.

“Well, at least he is right about one thing,” said Garak primly. “You have done far _too much_ to help Bajor, it's time we started planning our return to the station. I have to help Ziyal and Jake plan their wedding, after all.”

“I told the Kai I would stay until Peldor Joy,” Julian mumbled. “We can go back with Captain Sisko. He’s coming here for the festival as Jake’s request. I wonder if they’re going to break the news then.”

“Well why don’t I go find out?”

Garak left the room, now fully dressed. But all Julian could do was stare down at the empty space on the bed next to himself, and calculate in his mind all the improbable circumstances of his life that had brought him here, to this place, with these people.

If Songbird was right, and the Factions were open to a peaceful message from a neutral leader...he could very well adapt the Bajoran teachings into a philosophy that could…

_No...don’t even think it! You are not a leader, you are certainly not any sort of Kai!_

But the idea had been planted. And once a seed of an idea was planted, it could only help but grow into something stronger. 

\---------

_“‘And lo here it will be, the Enemies of the Emissary will strike down the Healer, and he will fall into the darkness of the grave. But here is what I have seen, the Healer will rise from death! And stand by the side of the Emissary, and he will look upon the warring nations, and he will say, ‘Look, towards Bajor’ And a great fiery bird will rise and follow where he goes, burning the ground where he steps, and the graves will open and the dead will tell their stories to Bajor. A hunger will grip the land. And the broken will heed his call, the sorrow laden, the damaged and defeated, by their thousands they will come to Bajor, shivering and cold, and he shall wrap them in warm blankets, as a bird wraps her young within her wings.”_

Vedic Noss could almost feel himself shivering as Vedic Remat spoke the prophecy, her voice full and her eyes damp.

“Vedic, I do not see how this prophecy is proof of the Kaj a Kai,” said Vedic Shern, a full supporter of Kai Winn and one of the strongest voices on the council.

“It is proof,” said Remat. “This prophecy is coming true even as we speak. He rose from the grave, is standing by the side of the Emissary, and the fiery bird, the bird that burned the ground where he steps, is clearly this unseasonable heat wave that is causing drought and wildfires on the Southern continent where the haj has been staying during his visit. The graves have been opened, the exhuming of Pok Tal, the dead being brought out and identified. Their stories are now being told to the world by their loved ones, during the funerals.”

“And people are going hungry all over Bajor,” said another Vedic, standing next to Remat. “We’ve had no sign that a famine was coming, but this morning we learned the reservoirs of water are dropping lower than historical averages for this year. I think this prophecy very much is telling us what is happening right now. Almost quite literally. What will happen next is the thousand, a thousand people, coming to Bajor for protection.”

A hushed murmur fell over the assembly. Noss was standing next to Remat, along with the four other Vedics, two from the Assembly, who had taken up Ambassador Els Renora’s cause.

“I am hesitant to suggest replacing the Kai over one coincidental prophecy,” said Shern firmly, and there was a murmur of consent from the others.

“It isn’t just one Prophecy,” Noss said, unaware that he even had the throat to speak. “We’ve taken a great deal of time gathering all the pertinent prophecies to study and have requested the amount of time needed to share them all. Such as Ragnu’s third. At Peldor Joi the Emissary is meant to come to Bajor and witness.”

“Witness…?”

Up until that moment, Kai Winn had been sitting quietly, placid, immovable as stone, firmly convinced that she had covered all the weak points in her ascendency.

“The Haj a Kai will speak the words of proof to the Emissary, according to the Prophecies of Kalthon and Trakor,” said Remat, and turned to look at the Assembly. “All the attempts to disprove him because he hasn’t spoken them yet are moot because the Emissary has not been here.”

“At Peldor Joi,” the Kai looked worried. “He may not be coming, the Federation is at war, after all…”

“He’s already on his way,” this was from another Vedic, one who was not part of their petition group. “His son is getting married so they’ll be celebrating Peldor Joy with us this year…”

Silence.

“If you will permit,” Noss bowed a little. “We think it is advisable to wait, and see for ourselves if the words of proof are spoken.”

“Well,” said Shern. “This all seems implausible. What are the words of proof?”

Remat stood a little taller.

“‘And the Kaj spoke to the Emissary, saying ‘Take with you the weeping bird, into the heavens, and let him sing the songs of peace to our people.’”

“Interesting...are we looking for exact wording, or a more modern interpretation…?” Shern said, smiling in that cryptic way, that way that he always did when scoffing at a potential prophecy coming true.

“I think we’ll know it when we hear it,” said Noss, emboldened to confront this clear disrespect for the prophecies from a Vedic. “We’ll have someone, a Bajoran, travel with the Emissary while he’s here. One of his officers perhaps?”

“And do you agree with this, Kai Winn?” said Shern, looking at her pointedly for direction.

“The Prophets work in mysterious ways,” said Kai Winn cryptically, her face somehow both smiling, and scheming in one. “We’ll have to see what happens at the festival.”

In those few, short words, Vedic Noss felt once more the cold bone chilling feeling of the grave gripping him.

_Dear Prophets, please don’t let her be planning what I think she is…_

After all. It was naive to think they were the only ones who would consider someone’s death as the final option.

\---------

“I apologize for bothering you so late in the evening, your Eminence, I understand you’ve had a rather difficult time with this problem?”

“None more so than usual,” Kai Winn sighed a little, and then gave her visitor an ugly glare. “I don’t want anyone seeing you here, so you need to be quick.”

“Well, I have someone who I want to be rid of,” he sauntered quietly over to the window, as if he owned the room that Kai Winn was sitting in. She had always hated that about him. “You have someone you want to be rid of. Lets handle them both at once. I’ll take care of Bashir and that tailor of his, get what I came here for, and you’ll get what you wanted from us...one million strips of latinum. A nice little nest egg in case you have to flee the planet at some point. Does that sound reasonable?”

Kai Winn considered. This man may look Bajoran now, but she knew he was not, and would turn on her in an instant. He hadn’t fooled her, but he had certainly fooled everyone from Cardassia to Bajor or he wouldn’t have been able to reach her.

“I was already planning the deed, I just needed someone to carry it out. Here is everything you will need for the task, you can alter things as needed,” said Kai Winn, pushing an envelope towards him with the data disks in question. “You should be able to get close enough during the Festival with these identity records. The Haj a Kai and his perverse little family will be there for a concert.”

“Certainly,” he smiled at her, and she could feel all the warmth of a cold winter’s night in those eyes. “We make a great team.”

“Well, don’t get used to it,” she said. “I’m overlooking your presence here for this one task, and I admit, having the Cardassian tailor gone will be a side benefit…”

“Certainly so, for both of us,” said Gul Dukat grinning, looking entirely too comfortable in his fake Bajoran skin. “I shall see you one last time after all has been completed, to transfer the money to you. Good night.”

“Good night…”

She watched him go, and felt a momentary thrill of dread.

_I’m consorting with a Cardassian to get what I want. How low must I stoop to take my rightful place? But the Federation will leave Bajor soon enough. I need to be ready when they do._

This year’s festival would certainly be worth remembering.

\----------


	18. Furious Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want all of you to know I cried writing this chapter.
> 
>   
> WARNING! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!

“Captain Sisko, I, for one, am astounded at your aiding and abetting of the irresponsible spending that has been taking place as of late!”

“Garak,” Julian’s tone was warning, but he knew Garak was personally very relieved to be free of his financial burden.

“I want to give my son a proper wedding present, I don’t want him saddled with debt when he has a child on the way,” Sisko smiled his winning smile as he thumbed the PADD that Garak had presented, despite his objections. “Thank _you_ for your generosity.”

“All the energy needed for the house has been set up,” Julian said, and smiled when Ziyal warmly put a cup of tea in front him. “Thank you.”

“I’m starting to really feel settled in,” she said, and smiled. “Thank you Captain…”

“Ziyal, you’re going to be marrying my son...call me ‘Dad’.”

“Dad?” Ziyal and Major Kira were both nonplussed.

“Human tradition,” Songbird added helpfully. “Your spouse’s parents become your parents too!”

“Interesting…” Kira sipped her tea.

Julian was very glad he had missed the yelling match that ensued when Jake had broken the news. He’d been out of the house, as requested, with Songbird and Garak, at the Festival plaza helping set up for the Festival. But the concert was later tonight, for now they had to figure out how they were going to fit two more people into this house. Shavi was standing by the door, looking a little healthier, but still very pale. Julian couldn’t help but feel guilty, he had been planning to research Selelvian Rot, but he no longer had a hospital of his own. Maybe returning Pok Tal had been premature.

“Anyway, we were trying to think of names...Dad…” Ziyal said, sounding a little uncomfortable with calling someone who wasn’t her father ‘Dad’. “We want Bajoran names, family first, but want to do something following human tradition as well. And Jake said humans like to give their children second names. So we were in agreement fully about what the middle names would be. Nerys for a girl. Benjamin for a boy.”

The look on Major Kira’s face was somewhere between honored and guilty. Captain Sisko smiled, thoroughly flattered.

“I’d like that.”

Just then Sisko’s combadge beeped.

“Dax to Captain Sisko…” came the bright and concerned sounding voice of Dax. “Benjamin, Vedik Tor Esten contacted us from the surface, and she’s very very concerned. I think you’d better come back.”

“I agree, we’ll be there in a moment,” Sisko turned to Jake. “I’ll be back as soon as I take care of this, Major, you’re with me. Songbird,” he grinned, looking over at the startled singer. “Good luck with your concert tonight, hopefully I can make it.”

“Uh, thank you sir,” said Songbird, looking nonplussed. “I hope so too.”

Once they were gone, Garak sat back and looked Songbird up and down with consideration.

“Well, I certainly hope you don’t mind me saying, that if Captain Sisko is enjoying your music, then there is certainly nothing wrong to be gleaned from the message you are trying to send with it.”

But Julian and Songbird shared a quiet, sad look, and the young musician swallowed hard.

“I hope you’re right.”

\---------

Captain Shelby put on her biggest fakest smile as she approached her first officer, skipping uncharacteristically in her sauntering step.

“Jones. I have a favor to ask you?”

His face took on the look she was expecting, one of pure distrust.

“Elizabeth, is this about the poker game last night? Because you know you lost fair and square…”

“No, it's about the planet,” she said, and she put her hands on her hips in a no-nonsense manner. “I want you to go down in a shuttlecraft while we’re looking for the attacking ship and try to ascertain, in person, how bad things have gotten. Because reports indicate that the “colonists” are thriving and have been given every resource needed to survive. The security down there reported everything is peaceful...but from the colonists themselves we’ve heard that they are in a desperate situation and everything else being told to us is a lie.”

“You don’t trust the report given to Admiral Novos by officers on the ground?”

“I don’t trust Admiral Novos,” Shelby said, out right. “Well?”

“I’ll take the shuttle down…” he sighed. “But I want to take a couple of security with me.”

“Security on the ground might be hesitant to let you in, so land outside the colony and transport inside from the shuttle…” she said.

“Yes sir,” he nodded at her, and headed towards the nearest jeffries tube. “Ryan and Stone, you’re with me.”

The two officers left their stations and their reliefs took over.

“Captain,” said the comm. “We’re coming up on Colony 53.”

“Excellent timing,” she said. “Go to Yellow Alert,” the lights on the bridge changed color immediately in response. “Begin a defensive pattern around the planet, I want constant scans for any anomalous movement in the region. Maxwell?”

“No sign of the ship yet, sir,” from her second officer, Maxwell, at ops.

“Keep scanning, lieutenant,” Shelby found her chair as her blood began to race in anticipation. “We were told this ship is very good at evading sensors. Prepare for evasive maneuvers,” she went over to the conn and looked down. “I want you to put in these patterns for immediate activation in the event we are caught off guard,” she listed them off. “Set them to activate the moment I call for a red alert. Science station,” she turned. “What can you tell me about this planet?”

“This is an M class unnamed planet. Jungle and rainforest environment,” her science officer was a Vulcan and was just full of information at any given moment. “It was used by the Federation as a prison camp during the Klingon-Federation war. The Klingons refer to the planet, and the colony itself, as _Dhak’tah Tam_ , the Silent Wall.”

Shelby could feel her shiver of concern over the name spread across her crew, and felt a grip of anger fill her. The science officer continued.

“While Klingon history recorded several atrocities that had been committed to prisoners here, Federation record credits a lack of understanding of Klingon culture as reasons for this disparity.”

“Well, I don’t care what you call it, this place has a bad history. This is still a prison as far as I’m concerned…” she paced the bridge pointedly back and forth, forgoing her chair.

“Captain. We have confirmation from shuttlebay four, Commander Jones’ shuttlecraft has left the ship and is on its way down to the planet.”

“On screen,” Shelby said.

It was only on screen for a moment. For just one moment, the little ship that was carrying her officers safely down to the planet. Then it was shattered, in an instantaneous explosive burst of fire from a sudden spitfire of silver that shot out of the darkness and sliced across their bow.

“Red alert!”

The battle maneuvers, the best of the best, based on information from the _Sentinel_ and Starfleet Intelligence, were barely enough to keep her ship from being destroyed outright.

“Phaser strike on the starboard nacelle!!”

“Return fire! Come around to port!”

“It's dodging! She’s coming about face!”

“Evasive maneuvers!”

This was a deadly dance, no precoded maneuvers were left and her own hotly shouted commands to the frantic helmsman only halfway held up. A horror briefly gripped Shelby as she considered her options, and the ship, so fast and zipping in and out of warp without any effort, was beyond what they had the ability to defeat. Except…

“Ensign, set course to Colony 53. Aim for the planet…”

“What?”

“You hear me. All hands prepare for atmospheric entry!!!”

“Sir! Yes sir!”

The ship wide klaxons sounded, the _Nebula_ -class starship, unfit for any battle with a ship like this, turned just as _Reverence_ came screaming out of the darkness of the stars for one last swipe at the retreating vessel, her slicing hull colliding with _Sutherland_ ’s vulnerable throat.

Explosions rocked through the beheaded ship, shrieking metal and screaming filled the air, explosive heat entered every access and crawlway, and the star drive and engines blew up in spectacular fashion.

“All hands! Brace for impact!”

She didn’t know if anybody anywhere in what was left in the ship heard her. But the emergency internal shielding and energy systems on the saucer suddenly kicked into life unexpectedly moments before collision with the atmosphere, and the saucer, suddenly free-falling, rolled sideways through the air, smoke and fire erupting from its ragged hull.

The saucer landed on its rolling edge, pirouetting across the trees, slicing through vegetation and rivers as it circled, rounded along the Colony 53 fence line precariously, and with one last scream of metallic agony fell in shrieking distress onto the ground, and was silent.

People would later describe this moment, depending on the source one asked, as being the making or breaking of Captain Shelby, and the beginning of the end of peace in the Federation.

\--------

“He’s not coming to my concert?” Songbird moaned. “I was hoping the Emissary would be there!”

Kira Nerys was nonplussed, and didn’t know whether or not to avert her eyes. The youthful singer was half dressed, but that may have been his costume, and Garak could be very offended if you inferred in any way that his clothing designs were unacceptable, or lewd.

“He will be, he’s just been delayed...”

“He’ll never get a seat once the concert starts, the crowds are incredible out there,” Jake said. “I had trouble finding a spot for me and Ziyal and we’re in the VIP section!”

“Oooooh,” Songbird moaned. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to live with it. I don’t have to like it…”

"Piper,” Doctor Bashir said warningly. “Hush.”

Kira Nerys was unused to the petulant juvenile behavior of the fully grown man that was Songbird, but she had heard rumors that he could be very child-like at one moment, then a severely ‘mature’ sensualist at the next. These were personality traits that often turned her off, and belied the beautiful and unearthly spiritual musical gift of this young man.

“What is the delay?”

“Vedic Tor has reason to believe that someone is conspiring with Kai Winn to assassinate Julian,” Kira said, looking perturbed as Songbird started getting dressed right in front of her. She had also heard he was an exhibitionist. “Sisko wants me to stay with all of you for your protection.”

“WHAT??”

Everyone looked at her startled, and the Doctor actually had jumped to his feet. She sighed.

“The source isn’t exactly reliable, he has admitted to spying on the Kai. But the Bajoran government has plans to confine her and her conspirator as soon as they can get their hands on them. Kai Winn has surrounded herself with protection for the concert, and nobody knows who the other conspirator is. But it's all on a digital recording…We can either stop the concert and try to find him, risk having them both flee, or take the risk of keeping things quiet until the assassin reveals himself. Prime Minister Shakaar chose the latter, despite Sisko’s objections. Do you want to cancel the concert?”

“No,” Songbird moaned. “But this is bullshit, you understand? Utter bullshit!”

“Oh my god,” Bashir’s eyes were stricken and Jake was just standing there with his mouth open in a silent ‘o’. “Why does she want to kill me? I’m not any threat to her?”

“Yes,” said Garak, sitting up and fully alert, eyes very much focused on her. “In fact we’ve been _very_ helpful to her,” these were the first words Garak had said since her return, but were the most weighted and meaningful of the group. “What reason could she possibly have to harm someone who has been helping her?”

Kira had not been looking forward to this part.

“The Vedic Assembly has decided...to seriously begin testing Julian to see if he might be the Kaj a Kai.”

Silence reigned.

“Of course he is,” said Songbird suddenly. “All the fuss over the obvious…”

“Matthew,” Bashir used the man’s real name, which caused a very collective wince as the young man whirled and confronted his husband, hands on hips.

“Stop patronizing me like I’m some sort of child you have to discipline!” said Songbird. “You are a denialist. I am a _realist_. You are the Kaj as much as Sisko is the Emissary. If time adverse aliens can predict the future and share it with Bajorans, who are we to deny it?”

“Well that’s one way to put it,” said Kira, trying not to be offended by his description of the Prophets. He meant well after all. “However, be careful at calling him Kaj if that’s what you believe. It's a very delicate part of Bajoran tradition,” she looked over at Julian, who was still glaring daggers at Songbird. “The Kaj plays a vital role in the future of Bajoran religion. I’ll hold my own opinion until the Vedic Assembly has decided.”

“There you have it!” Garak said, rounding on Songbird. “Straight from the Bajoran’s mouth, no offense Major, but respecting religion also means respecting doing things the way they do them, not making rash and baseless decisions yourself.”

“Baseless?” Songbird huffed. “Would they even be considering Julian if there wasn’t proof?”

“No,” said Major Kira. “Kaj related prophecies have to have already come true,” she said, and gave Doctor Bashir a smile. “We’ll have to see what happens next. But for now, we have a plethora of security for all of you waiting outside to escort you to the VIP seating.”

“Great,” said Bashir. “So I risk getting killed by an assassin, all for a position I do not want and can’t be happier to turn down, believe me…”

Kira held her tongue as the people in the room devolved into further conversation about the Bajoran Kaj and the Prophecies, at least those open to public interpretation. The Vedic Assembly had Prophecies that were not for the public for the very reason that the proofs could be easily manufactured for personal gain, and this was one of those times.

 _I’ll have to be diligent,_ she thought to herself, as she watched Doctor Bashir and Songbird work things out and finally agreed to talk about it later. _The Vedic Assembly asked me to be a witness. But Sisko needs to be there...or no go. And Kai Winn knows a Bajoran officer will be acting as a witness, she’ll be waiting for the right moment to prevent this from happening. Anything could happen next. It's all in the hands of the Prophets..._

\--------

“Captain? Captain Shelby?”

Shelby lifted her head, moaned and sat up.

She was on a very hard cot, surrounded by children and adults, and her second officer was looking down at her in agonized relief and very real tears.

“We didn’t think you would make it,” said a woman, wearing a slightly older style blue and black Starfleet uniform. She wasn’t part of the front line defense then. “That was a lucky break.”

Shelby gingerly touched her head, and moaned. How she had survived would be decided later, right now, she had a situation.

“Maxwell, report.”

“Forty seven survivors, but the ship is a total loss. The colonists came to rescue _us_ , ma’am. There isn’t a single security officer left on the planet.”

“Hasn’t been since I arrived,” said the woman in science blue. “I’m Doctor Michelle Avery,” she said, and sat on the cot, as Shelby lifted herself into a sitting position. “Ma’am, I would like to report that this place is hell, and you should make a full recovery.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said. “I’m grateful. How are the colonists?”

“Surviving, no thanks to the Federation,” said one angry man, coming out of the group to stand, surrounded by some very armed and angry adults.

He had curly dirty blond hair and an advanced eyepiece over one eye he was using probably as a night vision aid. His clothes had seen better days. In fact everyone’s clothing had seen better days. A lot of the children were very grubby and patch worked. Shelby took a deep breath.

“Why don’t you tell me your names first, and everything exactly that has happened, and we can use that clever communications device your colony set up to get in contact with Starfleet so I can send a report.”

“Good luck with that,” said Avery. “The adult Augments here control all communications going in and out, and have decided that they’re in charge.”

Shelby gave Avery a once over, considered for a moment the implied distrust in her words, and then turned to look over the man with the eyepiece and the men and women with weapons, one of them as young as sixteen, no more than that, in her opinion. Finally she turned to look at the children.

They were looking very barely on the edge of going savage. But if the children were all genetically engineered, as the reports to her from Sisko claimed, they were probably going to fare better than their parents when all was said and done. The parents, also looking threadbare, were standing behind Avery.

Already these people had divided themselves into groups, and this was a colony of over 300 people now. 

_No...a prison camp. Not a colony. Colony is the word Novos and the Federation council are using. This is clearly not. And I need to pick a side._

“Well sir,” she said at last, standing to her feet, and glad to see her own men were still armed fully and would be a fair match against the handful of armed Augments. “If you’re willing to help me out here, I’ll make my report to Admiral Ross. If you don’t, I’ll go back to what’s left of my ship, and set up communications with Admiral Novos. It's up to you which person gets my report, but they will be getting it. Because I just lost over a thousand crew,” she swallowed hard. “And all the relief supplies I had been bringing here to help this colony at Starfleet Medical’s behest. So make up your mind if you think I’m a threat or not so I can get down to work.”

For a moment, she met eyes with the man, who was her age, but had that deep unwavering intelligence of someone who was far more advanced in thinking than any average officer. She had to remember that, and not turn her back on him, not for a moment, not for a second.

“Very well,” said the man, and he smiled sardonically when he added. “Captain. But it's not going to help. Moon is a match for any Starship. She’s batshit crazy, and who knows what she’s going to do next? But she’s no slouch.”

“Well, hopefully, she’ll retreat to go repair the damage we caused to her hull in the collision,” Shelby followed him to their communications area as his eyebrows went up to his hairline. “It will give the rest of the relief team still a day behind me the time they need to get here. My ship, as you may now have guessed, was a decoy...I just wish…” she thought uselessly of Jones, and shivered. “I had not planned to survive going down with my ship. As I have no idea what I’m going to do now.”

\------------

_“Power is empty! Passion is wise!_

_Embrace your passion and as one we shall rise!”_

Songbird was feeling the adrenaline pumping through him at the song lyrics, the music, the complete combination of all the elements he had woven into this song coming together to tell their story. He hadn’t been able to resist, really, sending a message to The Factions in his concert, in this one piece, which had taken the place of a less well received song in his line up. He could already feel the song was more well liked, especially by the Bajorans who had resisted power and embraced their faith and rose up against their oppressors.

He had to admit, he had been coming to love the Bajoran people. He hadn’t intended it. But their simple faith and clear cut honesty about their feelings was something he wished humanity could possess. Really, the few bare examples of really bad Bajorans in their history were less than he could count on both hands. Most of their current law breakers were former resistance fighters who could not stop resisting, because that was all they knew.

 _I can dig that,_ he mentally was calculating this situation, even as he sang, able to do two things at once. _I can dig staying true to what you are even when everything around you is changing._

Out in the crowd he could see the thousands of Bajorans and off-world visitors, by far the largest crowd he had ever had for a concert. He had gambled with buying Jake the house. Word had gotten around and the concert had sold out in minutes and all the standing room had been pedalled out, doubling the number of attendees. Quite a few scalpers had been arrested over the last week and Songbird could calculate that today’s concert would net double what he had spent on the house. If this panned out for the course of his concert tour, then he was going to be rich as sin by the time he reached Ferenginar.

The sweat and heat pouring from his skin did not signal his need to rest, but his rising fury, his absolute adoration of this experience of shouting his anger at the Factions to a roaring crowd, who had no idea what he was singing about and were loving every minute of it!

_“Where is your honor? What happened to reason?_

_You embrace the moon but forsake the sky!_

_Rise upon your burning feathers to reignite the sun!_

_Power is empty! Passion is wise!”_

_Embrace your passion! And as one we shall...”_

He had been so carried on with his Passion piece that he had forgotten about the events in the dressing room before. But a sudden sound of phaser fire, a scream from the audience from Ziyal suddenly brought him back, midphase, to the present.

He stopped singing, the music stopped too, and he darted eyes down into the VIP pit just in time to see a tall, old Bajoran man pulling a struggling Ziyal away from the group, phaser pointed at her face, and the pair disappeared in a glitter of transporter light. He couldn’t see anything else, the throngs of security had surrounded the area and he was being pulled by two Bajoran guards from the stage.

“Let me go! No, Julian! Julian!”

“Come this way!”

“I want my husband! Let me go!!”

He finally used his Augment strength to break free of the startled guards and began his escape, running with Shavi calling out, more security dead on his heels as he finally made the exit back out to the audience.

Chaos. People were running everywhere. Security was trying to lead people away. A big debacle was occurring at the exit as they checked everyone for weapons, in case other assassins were present. He calculated the most direct route through the crowd to the VIP and ignored all masks or subterfuge, jumping the barrier gate and dodging out of the way of people as he made a break from the guards, searching for the one who meant most to him in the world.

Jake was being held by Kira, looking completely lost, and the Bajoran was chanting a Bajoran funeral prayer. Sisko was shouting at security guards, and Julian…

Julian Bashir was seated on the ground, tears streaming down his pale face as he was frantically trying to work with his pocket medical kit on a gaping wound in somebody’s chest, a burned empty hole. A Bajoran nurse from the concert halls’ emergency center arrived with a more comprehensive kit, opening it reluctantly as she sat next to him. 

“It’s too late sir...sir there’s nothing you can do!”

It hadn't hit Songbird yet. He was still struggling to comprehend as he stumbled over to their side. 

_Julian’s blood isn’t compatible with Cardassian blood...there’s no miracle here, just no fixing this…_

Garak’s eyes were wide, almost unseeing, looking up at nothing. Then suddenly he choked out and grasped Julian by the arms tightly, pulling himself up somehow, as if by a miracle of God, and choked out only one last word, one very Cardassian phrase that filled the air with its guttural finality.

“ _Revenge_.”

Julian Bashir’s eyes widened, and a seriousness overtook them that Songbird rarely ever saw.

“Upon all of your enemies. I will not rest. I swear it.”

Garak smiled. His expression softened completely and he just smiled, his eyes twinkled with warmth, and his head leaned back and then he died, he died smiling.

Major Kira continued to chant in Bajoran, Jake said a soft “No, oh God…” and Sisko had gone respectfully silent.

Songbird found his breath and grasped Julian from behind, wrapping his arm around the man’s chest with his hands clutched tightly together, just as the Doctor began to scream. A guttural shrieking cry of agony and rage and pain, a fury that caused everyone else to take several steps back.

Julian Bashir’s body was no longer his own. It was wracked with spasms, and he fought the embrace of his husband, and howled, and swore every swear word in every language he knew and his head whacked Songbird on the nose as he thrashed, but Songbird just clung to the man as the adrenaline rush of a horror induced fugue overtook him.

Eventually the tremors ended, the fugue passed, and Julian gasped out and Songbird found his own tears to shed, burying his bleeding nose in Julian’s hair and sobbing. Sobbing until he himself was hollow.

“Doctor,” Sisko was the first one to speak. “Are you all right?”

“No…” Julian was barely speaking, so quiet through his shaking tears. “One day…maybe. Right now I’m not. I’m not in control. I’m not alright. I’m sorry. It might happen again...I can’t predict it.”

“This happens to us,” said Songbird, not caring who heard him. “Because emotions aren’t easy to engineer even in an AI, and the genetically engineered brain isn’t designed with emotions in mind, it was designed in spite of emotion.”

“I think I understand,” Sisko nodded. “Major, I suggest we get everyone somewhere private.”

“Cardassian tradition says the body can’t be viewed,” Kira said, and Songbird was startled to see she was crying. “We need to sequester poor Garak somewhere else until we can bury him.”

“Dad…” Jake was standing there looking lost. “Why did they take Zi? Why?”

“I’m sorry, Jake. I just don’t know…”

“I do,” said Kira hotly, face suddenly contorted with rage. “I recognized the man’s voice just before Garak jumped between him and Julian...it was Gul Dukat!”

Sisko’s eyes turned furious. Just then several Bajoran security surrounded them.

“Emissary,” said one of them apologetically. “Kai Winn is claiming she was framed by Vedic Noss in order to put the Doctor and thus, the Federation, in control of Bajoran faith...I’m afraid Vedic Shern is taking her seriously, and so is Shakaar. He wants Doctor Bashir confined until a proper inquiry is completed. But...Kai Winn is also in confinement, just as you ordered. I...”

Sisko rounded on the man, who looked suddenly stricken to be confronted by Sisko’s unexpected fury.

“You can tell them that an assassin just tried to kill Julian and that his husband, Garak, is now dead, just as Vedic Noss warned us could happen! You can tell them that the Emissary will be speaking to them directly in person! You can tell them…”

“I’ll stay…” said Julian, quietly, half smiling, causing Songbird to jerk. “I promised Garak revenge...and I will have it. I will bring my own case to the Bajoran government against Kai Winn.”

“Julian…” Sisko frowned. “I have to object. I was promised my chief medical officer would be returning to Deep Space Nine after this concert.”

“Objection noted sir, but I’m a Bajoran officer now,” Julian frowned and looked at Songbird for a moment. Songbird felt his heart stricken. Julian Bashir looked a thousand years old. “But will you make me a promise?”

“A promise?” Sisko must have realized Julian wasn’t still entirely in his right mind, for he got down to eye level with him.

“Take Songbird with you,” before Songbird could object, Julian pushed on. “His concert isn’t just pretty songs, his songs contain messages for the Factions, asking for peace. We think the Thread is no longer safe to send messages with.”

“Are you sure?” Sisko looked at Songbird, who felt suddenly stricken, a fresh wash of tears pouring over and blurring his vision.

His concert meant everything to him. But so did Julian now. What could he do?

“We’re pretty sure,” Songbird agreed. “I don’t want to leave you!”

“Our people need to hear your songs,” Julian said, and stood to his feet. “I’ll look after Jake…”

Jake was miserable, and still looking very lost, bereft from his fiance, and now the death of her friend, her mentor Garak. And he was very young. Songbird was internally weeping for him and Ziyal.

“I...I want to go with Songbird…” said Jake suddenly. “I want to find my wife. He’s going outside Federation space for his concerts…”

“My Cardassian arm of the tour is strictly cancelled,” Songbird declared immediately.

“Jake, we’ll have to try going through official means first,” Sisko said. “I want you to stay with Doctor Bashir for now. Major?”

“I’ll stay too,” she said. “I’ll help him make his case.”

“I’m going to go back to the Defiant and send Dax down to help you. Those recordings the Vedic Assembly has should be inspected thoroughly so that nobody can claim they are faked,” he shook his head. “We all want answers, and we are going to get them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. ;__; I hated doing it. I have this plot and its all in my head. I have to stick to it. I will be writing fluffy bunny fics with a happy living Garak and Julian after I'm done this series, I know I will be. This is not meant to be one of those happy fluffy bunny stories. :(


	19. We're All Mad Here

Captain Benjamin Sisko was no fool. And he certainly recognized a long game when he saw one. He stalked the bridge of the _Defiant_ feeling his hackles rising with every step.

_How long has Dukat been planning this?_

Julian hadn’t meant for Sisko to just take Songbird up to the _Defiant_ with him, or to deliver him to his next destination. He was asking Sisko to take him with them when Starfleet left Bajor for good, which was almost inevitable if they couldn’t breach this political impasse between both governments. Songbird was going to communicate with the Factions and the Federation through his music anyway, but his concert tour was partially outside Federation space as well. Sisko wondered if he could get away with changing his patrol route to follow the concert tour.

But Dukat was still out there, the assassination order was still out there, Dukat might just target everyone Julian Bashir cared for in order to fulfill Kai Winn’s request. Whatever happened, Songbird was not going anywhere without an armed escort.

 _If it was_ only _Kai Winn’s request. And not other members of the Bajoran Vedic Assembly. And who was influencing them? Who wants Julian Bashir dead? I don’t think Kai Winn was the first stop on this chain. My instincts tell me she was just a pawn...but to who?_

“Captain, we’ve arrived at Deep Space Nine.”

“Excellent. Send word that Constable Odo is to beam over immediately, we’re transporting him to Bajor to act as Doctor Bashir’s Advocate.”

Dax looked tense, from the top of her high ponytail to the bottom of her feet. And she was just as furious as he was. She had been Garak’s biggest advocate for marrying Bashir, despite his reputation for being a spy and untrustworthy. She had been starting to form a friendship with the unusual Cardassian. Now he recognized that look in her eyes, the one she got that was more Curzon than Jadzia, the old man look.

_She wants that revenge that Julian promised..._

Songbird had returned with Jake to the house to pack his things, and then locked himself into the Shuttlecraft on the ground and refused to leave. Nobody had been able to hack into the Shuttlecraft to bust him out. Songbird wanted to stay with his spouse. And his agent Shavi had been having conniptions ever since. They had already missed their farewell concert on the space station and had to refund ticket fees. Sisko had been forced to ban Quark from complaining to him about the matter until Quark himself actually came to Bajor to speak to him in person. Quark had wisely declined to leave his bar.

_I can’t blame Songbird. I think it hasn’t hit me yet, the way it has everyone else. I won’t be getting any more tailoring done at Garak’s shop...or tips about the Cardassian and Dominion activities. A vital piece in our war chest has been stolen. Two pieces._

How long had Dukat been planning on stealing Ziyal? Was Garak always a part of that plan or just a happy accident?

It was time to put Odo on the case to solve it.

“Constable Odo is on board sir.”

“Good, now turn us around and take us back to Bajor. We’re not leaving until we have all the answers.”

The smile on Dax’s face was telling. And in his currently stormy state of mind, her support was absolutely priceless

\-----------

_“A Bajoran takes comfort from their spiritual life...look to your pagh…seek guidance from the Prophets.”_

_“I’m not a Bajoran.”_

_“To wear our colors and speak our language, but to ignore our faith? It is quite simply, Doctor, that you look to the outside to bring solutions, when the answers can be found within…”_

Julian Bashir had no idea how he had come to be standing here, in this empty space, with Kai Opaka, and hoped he was just dreaming, but was starting to realize that he wasn’t just dreaming. Her presence in the back of his mind as he had nearly lost control at the hospital...and now, in his dreams, in his dark black dreams where the emptiness of despair, the pain of loss was reaching in to grab a hold of him…she had connected to him somehow telepathically from the Gamma Quadrant and was now very much a part of his mind.

_“Look for answers within...Doctor…”_

Julian Bashir woke trembling. He shivered and wrapped the blanket around him, smelling the night air and feeling a chill despite the summer heat. Around him cream walls and a bare ceilings were his only comforts. Somewhere outside his door a Bajoran Ranjen was sleeping, and he felt sorry for the man. Having to both protect and guard his charge was not easy, but to fall asleep on duty, as Garak would have said, a most egregious oversight on his part.

_No! No...don’t think about him…don’t..._

But it was hard not to. He hadn’t been given much more than a quick change of clothes to some civilian robes of some kind, been given this quiet empty room to lie in, and been left alone, for hours, in what the Bajoran government did as standard for any ‘suspect’ ordered into confinement. It was meant to prevent him from muddling his testimony based on the advice of outside influences.

And this wasn’t technically a cell, it was a nice town house in the old part of the city, which he had the run of, but it was still a prison to him. A whole house to himself, but outside was a guard, whose job was both to protect him from further attempts on his life, and to prevent him from leaving. The concert had taken place in the evening, and it was now somewhere passed midnight, hours before the sun would rise. All alone in a house with a sleeping guard outside and nothing but his thoughts.

_...Memories filled him of blood, black and dark...all over his hands...the hotly whispered final request...the blood and spit on his lover’s face coming up from his ruined lungs…_

Julian collapsed into a crying despair and curled up on the cot, hugging his legs, trying to stave off another fugue. Anger and rage had torn through him so hard before, and had left him aching and raw, and now he very seriously considered breaking loose, taking advantage of the sleeping guard, and leaving this place, simply for the safety of everyone around him. He wanted nothing more than to go hunt down Gul Dukat and wring his neck until he gurgled his last wretched breath. And this wasn’t a normal thought. Or was it? It was normal to hate someone, but it was not normal to have this constant urge to kill at the back of his mind, like an echo chamber...

_But there is still the Kai to tend to…_

Julian knew _that_ wasn’t a sane thought either. He wasn’t going to kill Kai Winn. No he wasn’t. He wanted to, oh, he really wanted her dead, and he hoped the Bajoran law wouldn’t let him down on this. Pre-meditated murder on Bajor was usually followed by a death sentence, even if it was never carried out. No, for proper Cardassian style revenge something more was needed.

Humiliation. His augment brain had been working overtime from the moment he’d learned she had wanted him dead. Humiliation and the brutal stripping down of every golden layer of sanctimonious self-righteous arrogance she had ever displayed, a baring of everything.

_Revenge...Garak would have approved revenge that caused the most amount of emotional distress upon the victim...he would have revelled in it._

If he was right, and he was certain he was, he had everything he needed to take her down. Forget using Bajoran faith to take the Factions to task, forget reaching into his _pagh_ for spiritual enlightenment. Becoming the Kaj would be the ultimate humiliation for her. If she wasn’t convicted, if she got away with murder somehow, and slipped her slithery way out of the grasp of the Bajoran justice system, then she would still be forced to live as a poor humble servant in the middle of nowhere, tending to the poor and actually doing good for others.

And isolated, alone, out of reach of neither helping hand nor support, he would eventually come find her to finish it for good...in a way that nobody would suspect.

_Oh these are definitely not the thoughts of a sane man!_

Revenge was going to be taken slowly, and carefully, sweetly. It was going to be everything Garak would have wanted. She had orchestrated this whole wretched fiasco after all hadn’t she? Gul Dukat was just a side note, he had played into her plans willingly.

_“Well done my dearest,” the voice this time was not Kai Opaka’s, but one he loved and loved and wanted in his arms again, whispering into his ear. “I have taught you well, my dear. Now, for your next lesson…”_

But he wasn’t sleeping.

\---------

“Mad?”

Ranjen Tellert nodded his head seriously, and looked over at Kira Nerys pointedly, and Kira felt her chest stricken.

She had just related to the Vedic Assembly everything that had happened, including the fact that Julian had, in front of her, told the Emissary to take the ‘weeping’ Songbird with him to sing songs of ‘peace’ to his ‘people.’. It was a broad stroke, and yet somehow Julian had done exactly as the prophecy had predicted.

That had been enough to convince her, but now Vedic Remmet and Vedic Tor were looking at the Ranjen with twin looks of what could only be astonishment.

“Are you certain? It's months until Winter…”

“He’s speaking to himself,” Ranjen Tellert looked near as a man could possibly be to total confusion. “And spent all night speaking to both his dead beloved...and Kai Opaka,” the Ranjen looked highly stricken, and rightfully so. “And speaking back to himself their replies. He is not sane…”

Kira blanked a little, concern for the Doctor overriding everything. They hadn’t seen him in days, since the security had taken him away, and only Odo had visited him, and he wouldn’t tell them what Bashir was asking him to do, only that he had seemed ‘determined’ to win this. Dax had been going over every record and petitioning the government for Noss’s release so they could work with him to find out how he had managed to get all these recordings and anything else he might know. After admitting to spying, and being charged with espionage, he had gone into a vow of silence.

“Winter is the time of Trials. The Kaj is _supposed_ to go severely mad...but it's too early…”

“Overcome with madness in the hours up until his journey into the wilderness, to reunite with his memory of his past,” Remmet finished.

Kira thought about that. Bareil had confided in her a few of the prophecies of the Kaj, but had sworn her to secrecy. He had been convinced that Kai Opaka’s journey to the wormhole was the sign of the imminent arrival of the Kaj. It seemed as if he might have been right.

“Well, the Trials take place in winter, but the Kaj will also take the trials on the day of his birth,” Tor was saying. “The prophecy isn’t congruent…”

“Julian’s birthday is not long from now,” Kira said helpfully. “He was born on Earth...so maybe the prophecy was referring to the weather in his hometown. I hear from him all the time how it's always raining where he was born. Maybe it’ll be winter soon? I can check...”

Tor looked at her, actually smiling.

“All this is just more confirmation to us that we should not expect to be witnessing the Prophecies exactly as they are written. So then, if Bashir is the Kaj, then perhaps it stands to reason that Kai Opaka is the last true Kai before the coming of the Kaj, who must leave Bajor before the Kaj, going into isolation to minister to the poor.”

“Well...” said Kira. The details of Opaka’s exit from Bajor were mostly being kept quiet, they had only told Bajor that Opaka was ministering in the Gamma Quadrant, following the will of the Prophet. 

“Now goodness, what is your proof of this?” said Vedic Shern, sitting up pointedly. “Be careful, if you are suggesting Kai Winn is not a Kai because of...unfortunate accusations,” he looked down his nose at Kira for a moment; she had reported to them everything that had happened at the concert as well. “The Prophets speak against false witness.”

“We have a dead man, a missing girl, and recordings that Bajoran Security and the Federation both confirm as real...we have everything we need to prove her guilty…”

“But not that she is a _False_ Kai,” Shern added. “You need the public denouncement of the Emissary.”

“I can’t tell you how many times Sisko has held his tongue…” Kira said, then remembered herself and where she was and let it trail off. She had been invited in to witness, not to be a part of the Assembly.

“No,” said Tor with a sigh. “This is a common error. The Kai _herself_ has to denounce the Emissary in public. It is the other way around.”

“Oh,” Kira wracked her brain, trying to think of a time when Kai Winn had done so. She hadn’t. And she’d be quite careful of that sort of thing.

“False Kai or not,” said Remmet harshly. “We are considering whether or not _Bashir_ is the Kaj, and all the proofs are pointing in that direction. We shall wait for the government to finish its investigation of him, which shouldn’t take too long with their evidence in his favor, and then we shall put it to a vote, whether the Doctor should take the Trials of the Kaj.”

“Is this madness really a sign? Or is he just babbling in grief and will be perfectly normal in the morning?”

“The fact that you said that shows how little respect you have…”

Kira wanted to roll her eyes as the Vedic Assembly, predictably, without a Kai to guide them, descended into accusations, division and confusion.

The Prophets had declared that Bajor would always need a Kai to unite them. And clearly they were right.

\------------

“Major Kira…”

Minister Shakaar watched his former resistance member walk into his office with that proud borderline angry demure that she was pretty much known for everywhere. She was ready for action and it showed.

“Shakaar, I’m here for an update…”

“I just got off communications with Vedic Shern. So they’re willing to wait for the law to intervene before deciding if Bashir will take the trials. It's just what I was afraid of.”

“What do you mean?”

There had always been an underlying attraction, and attention, between them both, one that they hadn’t followed up on fully and which was a constant point in the back of his mind during every conversation they had. They had way too much history from their time in the Resistance together and he didn’t want to take advantage of that. He knew her too well, knew her personality, her reactions, and he knew she was not going to take his news well.

“Both Kai Winn and Doctor Bashir have asked for Trial by Amphra.”

“They did what?” Shakaar saw the look of incredulity on her face and felt his stomach turning with concern. “Does Julian even understand what that means?”

“If he doesn’t, Constable Odo will certainly need to explain it to him…” Shakaar sighed, and looked down. “If he had begun the Trials of Kaj with the blessing of the Assembly, his reputation with the public would be in much better shape, but now…”

“Kai Winn’s impressive friend network will fill the seats of the Amphra and swing the vote.”

“So unless we can get an equally impressive number of Doctors…”

Kira seemed to start, and then sat up.

“No...no that’s it. The Amphra audience has to be made up of the people who were born in the home of both suspects, their family, or their professional colleagues. And Julian Bashir is human!”

“Human, meaning anyone born on Earth,” Shakaar said, and grinned. “How many people from Earth are on board Deep Space Nine and how many can Benjamin Sisko send us before the trial?”

“That depends on when the trial is, and whether the _Defiant_ travels at warp,” Kira smirked, and Shakaar raised his hands.

“So half the audience will have to have been born on Earth, or related to him. His other spouse, Songbird, and I understand Admiral Ross is his father in law? We can delay long enough to have some family present. And Doctors as well, I’ll pull in some of his medical colleagues from the Bajoran Medical Authority to fill any empty seats on his side. I’m already feeling better about this…”

“But Shakaar, what if Starfleet objects to trial by Amphra? I mean, even most Bajorans object to it these days...”

Shakaar put his chin on his fists, and sighed, leaning forward.

“Doctor Bashir is a Bajoran now. He has chosen this method for his trial, and he has to follow Bajoran law. The Federation’s Prime Directive means they have to respect us on this. Even if this form of trial is used so very rarely, it is the right of every Bajoran to enter the Amphra. Bashir has that right.”

Kira’s eyes filled with immediate concern at the finality of this, and Shakaar, looking down at his notes laid out over his desk, felt his own hesitation growing.

It had been so rarely used indeed, because at the end of the day, the results were the same.

It was always the will of the people.

\---------

“Trial by Amphra?”

Dax lifted her head up from where she had been reading from a PADD. When they had all returned on Bajor, the townhouse had been their first stop, and they had found Jake in his bedroom, curled up in there huddled over his PADD writing furiously, trying to get out everything that had happened, and putting it all together in a newsworthy story for the Federation News Service. It was one of the ways he dealt with his grief. Sisko had let him have his peace and they had all decided to gather in the kitchen and wait for him to come down and join them, and for Kira to check in with the Minister. Odo had gone straight to the capital to consult with Doctor Bashir.

“Amphra basically means ‘Will of the People’. The Amphra itself is just an amphitheatre on the outskirts of town. But anyone is allowed to ask for trial this way, and the audience becomes the jury. But the problem, which is obvious, is that the Amphra tries two suspects at once…”

Sisko looked up from his chair, where he had been reading a copy of Jake’s writing on his own PADD.

“I don’t understand...I thought Bajoran law allows each suspect their own trial, correct?”

“Correct,” said Kira, and took a breath. “However, if both suspects are a part of the same criminal case, and accusing each other, they can both ask for an Amphra, and if they both agree to it, then it is allowed. Kai Winn is clearly guilty from all the physical evidence we gathered…she wants an Amphra because of how popular she clearly is...but Julian...”

“Major, you’re stalling,” Sisko said, his face a dark mask of concern. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Kira seemed to steel herself.

“In a Trial by Amphra, the audience must decide which one of the two suspects is guilty, and which one is not. One is convicted on all charges against them, and the other is free of all charges against them. It's a trial by vote.”

Dax felt even her symbiont was alarmed by this.

“A popularity contest?” Dax said, horrified.

“Basically,” Kira shrugged. “Each suspect gets as much time as they want to plead their case to the Amphra over the course of however many days it takes for them to do so, and can present any evidence they like. No time limit. But the decision, once it's made, is final. Shakaar and I did come up with an idea of how to sway the jury more in Julian’s favor…”

“Oh?” Sisko looked like he was barely containing his fury.

Dax could quite understand it. It was absolutely ludicrous. But she would never say so to Kira’s face. They were friends, and she had always tried to respect Kira’s culture, even if she didn’t agree with it.

“The audience has to be composed of the people from the hometown of the two suspects, their peers, their family. For Kai Winn, Bajorans, mostly Vedics. But Julian can rightly ask for medical colleagues, and for those who were born on Earth, to make up his half of the Amphra. Humans. Basically.”

“Humans. Or the few non-humans born on Earth we might have,” Dax said, thinking more and more that this seemed like it would be a very rigged show trial where popularity would prevail over evidence. “I’ll start checking out station records...”

“Contact the Sentinel and have them send us their Earth born officers as well,” Kira said. “The Amphra is huge. And any empty space is filled by Bajorans from right off the street.”

“Kira,” Sisko sat up. “I want you to work with Odo to convince Julian to not participate in this...if you can.”

“I’ll try, but he is Bajoran now…” Kira said, and crossed her arms. “Amphra is considered a right, because being tried on shaky evidence...well to put it in a more spiritual perspective, Bajorans believe the Amphra is a place where the Prophets gather. And the will of the people in this place is also the will of the Prophets.”

“I knew there had to be a spiritual aspect to this,” Dax said, feeling her ire rising. “Why would Julian agree to something like this?”

“We’ll just have to wait for Odo to come back, and find out for ourselves,” Sisko said, and the rumbling thunder underlying his calm, placid comment made even the symbiont shiver.

Sisko was not going to let any of his officers go down without a fight. Not even a Bajoran one.

\------

“Well I have good news and bad news,” said Constable Odo, sitting down with Kira and Jake in the kitchen.

Sisko and Dax had gone back to the _Defiant_ to start gathering Earthlings for the jury. Ross was already on his way.

“Worst is first…” Kira said, remembering the favorite Starfleet saying that Dax had once told her. Apparently it was a rhyme in Federation Standard. 

“Doctor Bashir can still ask for Amphra, despite his unhealthy mental state, as long as he has an advocate give his defence for him. And he’s out right adamant that he wants to take this route.”

“I see, so what is the good news?”

“Garak,” Odo smiled, and he sat back, letting her fill in the gaps.

“Garak,” Kira thought about it, and raised an eyebrow. “What did Garak do, who did he kill, and what was the result?”

“Blackmail, basically,” Odo smiled in a way that she couldn’t remember him smiling in a long time. “He may be dead, but he has left behind so much blackmail against so many people on Bajor it’s unbelievable. Julian gave me his access codes to access his personal logs and the amount of evidence he’s been gathering on many notable people, even outside of Bajor, is quite damning. And certainly we have enough evidence for Julian’s defense that I can guarantee if this were a jury by proper courtroom he’d be acquitted easily.”

“And evidence against the Kai…?”

“Not exactly the kind we were looking for,” Odo said. “But I did find a motive for murder beyond securing her own status as Kai, which may be key to convincing her side of the audience to stop supporting her.”

Kira looked at Odo, and he smiled again, and suddenly Kira felt everything was going in their favor.

But she knew the darkness was always there where Kai Winn was concerned.

“We can’t turn our backs on Winn for one moment,” she said. “She’s representing herself, who knows what defense she’ll put forward, and what evidence she has against the Doctor?”

“I’ll go see what I can find out. But let's hope she’s bluffing and hoping to win this trial on popularity alone.”

“I hope you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songbird doesn't show up here. But he's coming. No worries. I'm looking forward to the trial as much as you all probably are. Trial scenes are fun stuff. I don't really feel I'm good at writing them, but I enjoy doing them.


	20. Flattery, Plain and Simple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is longer than I intended, but I didn't feel like breaking it up. You guys have been waiting for updates, so you get two back to back. Yay!

Cadet Nog found himself face to face with a shuttlecraft, one whose lone occupant had a brain chemistry much more advanced than his own. Chief O’Brien was hunched down next to the hulk and was working on an access panel, swearing and complaining about Augments and shuttlecraft construction. Nearby, Jake Sisko and the Selelvian agent Shavi were working verbally to try and convince Songbird to come out.

“Come along now Birdling,” said Shavi. “You know you need to come out anyway, for the trial.”

“You need to be part of Julian’s side of the jury, as a part of his family,” Jake Sisko took up the call to arms. “You want to support him don’t you?”

Songbird wasn’t responding. He was alive, there was a human lifesign inside. And he was moving around inside, not unconscious, and he was using the replicator to eat from. But he wasn’t bathing, there was a sonic shower installed in this particular model, but it hadn’t been used according to their scans. It was almost stuffed, this shuttlecraft, Shavi and Songbird had requisitioned this craft specifically for them to use for touring Bajor and runabouts were more precious, DS9 couldn’t just lend them for use to civilians. Nog remembered helping Chief O’Brien fit the sonic shower and bunks into the back of the shuttle, and this was the largest shuttlecraft they had been able to allocate. He had wondered why a sonic shower was needed when they would be staying at hotels and housing on the planet. Now he knew.

This human neglected his hygiene when he was stressed. Nog performed another perfunctory scan, but knew it was useless. In three days, Songbird hadn’t showered once. Maybe this was fine for humans? Ferengi needed at least two showers a day to get their skin soft enough to handle the very non-humid environment of space.

“Chief, lets try backing up the auxiliary exhaust on the back…”

“What’ll that do?” said Shavi. She had stopped trying to reason with the man and had come over to watch them. Jake was still standing by the shuttlecraft door, trying to get the man’s attention through the window.

“If he realizes he’s running out of air, he’ll have to leave…”

“Or be trapped inside suffocating!” Shavi argued.

“We can turn it back on if he calls our bluff,” O’Brien said. “If we can access the exhaust at all, he’s got everything pretty well shielded and encrypted with such complicated codes…”

All of them were suddenly startled by the sound of the shuttlecraft door opening up and Jake going into it.

“Wait, Jake! How did you convince him to open the door?” said Nog, as Shavi launched herself into the shuttlecraft.

“I asked if I could come in and join him...and if he wanted to see the newspaper article I was writing.”

Before Jake could say anything the shuttle door started closing again, leaving Nog and Chief O’Brien standing outside, completely abandoned.

“Let’s leave off the exhaust plan for now,” said O’Brien wisely. “Let Jake and Shavi work on convincing him to come out. Help me get the panels we removed back in place.”

_So much for my idea. How can I ever become a full ensign if all my plans are cut off before I can even put them into practice?_

\-----------

Jake Sisko could hardly believe what he was seeing. The devastation was evident in every inch of the crowded shuttle, even as Shavi coaxed and goaded Songbird into drinking some water so he could sober up, severely complaining about the man’s clearly intoxicated state.

Songbird had been drinking heavily, replicated alcohol, overriding the controls on the replicator to allow real alcohol to be produced, which was not permitted on most shuttle crafts. He probably hadn’t been eating much. There was vomit on his clothes and on the passenger side navigators seat of the shuttle that would have to be cleaned. Jake would let the engineers run the cleaning programs on that one. For now, he started quietly picking up pieces of paper from the floor as Songbird cried and complained to Shavi about how much of a pain she was being. He was a mess. His eyes were bloodshot and tear stains were on his face and he was completely hungover.

Jake however, could see the genius on display, and he knew where this man was coming from. Every piece of paper strewn about the shuttle, and there were dozens of them, was covered with music notes. Songbird had been composing, just as Jake had been furiously writing in his own grief, and in the span of three days the composer had conjured up a sixteen page rough draft of a piece he called ‘Plain and Simple’.

It was a song for Garak.

Jake was careful to try and keep the pages in the order that they were laid out, if there were any order, and set them carefully on a clean surface of the shuttle. Songbird finally settled down with some water, on one of the empty passenger seats as Shavi went through his packs to find him some clean clothes.

Jake quickly double checked the panel by the door. It chirped angrily at his attempt to open it. Until they could bring this man to a state of sensibility they were both trapped in there with him. He brought his PADD over, as promised, and waited until Songbird had a chance to make himself presentable before offering it for reading. The man was still in his underwear. He’d be naked if he was alone, Jake was sure of it. He would wait to show his own writing until at least the man was fully clothed.

“It's damned hot, nothing that isn’t linen or cotton. I’ll sweat and ruin silk,” Songbird complained as Shavi pulled out some shirts and pants for him to see. “The air conditioning stopped running on this thing…”

“That’s because a shuttlecraft's internal atmosphere adjusts the user to the environment they are living in slowly over time,” Nog said over the communication system, which was still projecting from the cockpit. “So that your body doesn’t go into shock every time you leave. But it never goes outside of habitable temperatures.”

Jake hadn’t known this, and he had lived in the Federation around shuttles for a long time. But living in a shuttle while on a planet’s surface was a situation most people didn’t have to deal. Now they all knew.

“Well turn the cold back on!” the musician complained, as he dragged on his clothes, some plain blue shorts and a cream peasant style shirt. “I’m writing songs for my concert! I can’t work when it's so hot!”

“Birdling,” Shavi took the man’s tear stained face into her hand, a hanky from her pocket in the other hand, and began dabbing at the tears on his face. “Sweetheart, you know that isn’t why you’re upset. Talk to me sweetling.”

Songbird’s face became even more grieved and miserable, if that was even possible.

“I didn’t get to be with Julian, he was taken away, and we didn’t get time to grieve together, and Garak was buried without a funeral, without his family there, and he won’t ever get to return to Cardassia,” Songbird spoke it all in a fast sobbing refrain. “I want him to be buried on Cardassia, I can’t see that ever happening now, it's not fair!”

“One day, maybe, we can bring him home,” said Shavi, and she handed him his clothes. “For now, you need to be strong for Julian’s trial. Show me your song you’ve been writing.”

“I put it over there,” Jake pointed, and seeing his opening held out his PADD. “While Shavi is looking your song over, you could look over my story…?”

“Excellent idea!” Songbird perked up a little bit more. “Oh, maybe I should unlock the shuttle, those two must be so hot out there,” he was referring to Chief O’Brien and Nog, looking in at them from the front of the shuttlecraft through the windows. “You could write a report about the trial, it had better be a fair trial, or I’ll complain at every level of Bajor’s government!”

Shavi and Jake shared a look, and both of them decided without speaking not to tell him about Kai Winn’s ‘evidence’, not wanting to stir the pot just yet.

Odo had a much harder job ahead of them than they had thought.

\--------

Captain Sisko hated courtrooms. The fact that this courtroom was outdoors was even worse. He hated the heat that Bajor was being stricken with right now.

Bajor’s Amphra could have shared geography with the Colosseum in Rome or the Theatre of Dionysus in Athens. It was round, and made of staggered rows of stone platforms, with more modern wooden benches and seats set up probably in later years of Bajor’s development. At the center was an empty stone floor with a couple of benches for the defendants and a seat across from them for the judge to sit. The Bajoran judge, who was there to tally the votes of the people and pronounce judgement, was sitting under a canopy erected for his own comfort, and Sisko was jealous beyond reason.

And more miserably, he hated how disheveled and unshorn Julian looked. He looked every bit as mad as he had been told he was. Apparently though, this was in his favor. The Kaj a Kai was supposed to go mad. It was one of the signs that he was in communication with the Prophets. The Bajoran prophecies themselves were written by Kais and Vedics undergoing a spiritual fever and visions.

A Bajoran Ranjen was seated next to the Doctor, helping him stay sitting up. This Ranjen, named Tellert Jem, had been taking his duty to care for the Doctor very seriously. He had been assigned to guard, protect him initially, and then to minister to the Doctor when he was diagnosed as ‘mad’ by the Vedic healer who was permitted to visit. Sisko had made sure a medical Doctor had been sent as well, and she had suggested there was a chemical electrical imbalance in Bashir’s brain that was confusing and would need further study. She was still working away on the puzzle in the infirmary on the Defiant right now. Odo was the only other visitor that had seen Julian, and his reports had been brief, but firmly on the side of Bashir doing a good job with his Defense and terrible at anything else. The Ranjen had been sorely needed to just dress and feed the man outside of his brief flashes of sanity and desire to get revenge against Kai Winn.

As for the Bajoran government, one accusation from a person was all that was needed in order to begin an investigation into someone, and Sisko was the only one who was willing to make one against the Kai. Julian's 'madness' would have made his own accusation open to dismissal, if a case could be made that he wasn't capable of making a rational decision. So Sisko had taken up the charge. By tradition the accusers could not vote, but since Kai Winn as a defendant was already not permitted to vote her accusation against Julian was moot. She wasn’t going to be on the jury anyways. Sisko could not sit in Amphra and vote. But he could watch from the back row.

In the rows on Bashir’s side were the human staff of Defiant and Sentinel and Deep Space Nine. Admiral Ross had sat without shame next to his son and son-in-law and of course, Songbird, who, bless him, was going around in a state of red eyed misery unwilling or unable to sing. And according to Jake he was composing music for Garak, a tribute in hopes of Garak being returned for proper Cardassian funeral rites one day.

But the investigation of Garak’s death was why Julian was here, despite his mental state. He had the right, as a widow, to watch the trial, even if he wasn't fit to participate. Although they didn’t have the numbers Kai Winn boasted for her side of the jury, it didn’t matter to the end result, because the remaining seats were packed with Bajorans, the galleries fit to burst. Kira had convinced the small village that had helped Julian exhume the hospital into coming for Julian’s side, so at least he had some people who had seen him in action as a doctor. A lot of Bajoran doctors had come. Many of Kai’s faithful followers were here as well.

Sisko looked down at Kai Winn, who had dressed herself in white pointedly, to make a statement. Her power over the minds of Bajorans was quite clear by the number of people present, and the number of supporters wearing her favorite gold color, some in the stands, some in the streets outside the Amphra. They couldn’t vote, but they were here in support, out in droves. She, like Julian, had been kept in isolation, but she had been granted her whole estately manor house to dwell in, and thus the gaudy attempt at purity she was displaying in wearing white.

Rather than a modest gown, the white shift was laid in with thousands of tiny shimmering pearls, her hair done in a low braid in the pearls and white ribbons, an attempt to look pure and still beautiful that was not without merit really. She looked rather angelic by human standards. Sisko had learned that appearance could very well make or break any first impression, and this impression would not be forgotten.

_And Julian is an Augment. Having a human jury may be in his favor, but Augments aren’t exactly popular in the Federation._

Julian was certainly making an impression, mumbling to himself, and chewing on his sleeve. He was looking lost in the sea of this ‘madness of mixed faith’ as the Bajorans considered it. Sisko, however, recognized this stage of grief, and pitied him. The depth of his denial and self-disillusionment was obvious in the reports the Ranjen had given them. Julian was not dealing with his grief at all, he was inventing a Garak that was talking, teaching him, and engaging in some psychological warfare with Kai Opaka over his place in the Bajoran faith, and that was almost more alarming than the trial itself. He knew that some men never came back from this state of their grief. This was the man that was going to lead Bajor?

Clearly that must have been on Kai Winn’s mind, when she was finally given leave to lay out her defense. The first one accused always spoke first.

“Fellow Bajorans,” she said. “I come to you now, palms open, hands spread, the victim of a Federation plot to overthrow our religious sovereignty, our faith,” she jerked her head to look over at Bashir pointedly. “Orchestrated by this man, this atheist, this _Augment_.”

Ah. Sisko sat back, and turned to look at Ross, whose face was a pensive mask. He had been severely aggravated by the idea of the Amphra, and was in talks for Shakaar for hours before it started. If Julian lost his case, and the Kai won, Shakaar had promised to exile Julian instead of imprisoning him. Starfleet had dropped all its previous charges against Julian, ironically enough, so he could live as a civilian on Earth again, if he wanted to. But he wouldn’t be permitted to rejoin Starfleet. Still, it was better than death.

Which was what Kai Winn was facing. So too, was her argument against Doctor Bashir.

“This man has done miracles, miracles, saving lives with medicine,” Kai Winn’s face was stricken, as she addressed the audience. “And his own blood has even brought himself and the people of Rubicun III back from the dead. But what about Kai Opaka?”

Sisko had known this argument was coming. Odo had shapeshifted his way into Kai Winn’s solitary residence to spy and find out what her defense would be.

“Why did he not use his special blood to bring her back? To protect himself from being discovered for what he is...unnatural…” she turned to look at the man. “Even now, though he could do it, use his blood to return Opaka to us, he does not. He is a man born of science, not the prophets, created in a laboratory. _Amoran Pagh_ , a creature with no spirit. He lost his a long time ago. I ask you, are you going to take the word of a lifeless creature, a non-believer, devoid of a soul, over a Bajoran? Your own rightfully chosen Kai?”

Her face turned demure. And she attempted to be modest.

“I am not unknown to you, and you have seen the works of my spirit,” she put out her hands again. “You have seen the charity, you have known about the suffering I underwent at the hands of Cardassians, in punishment for my faith. You know I am a believer…”

And then she went on at length, promoting her own history and past, everything she had accomplished. This was permitted, and Sisko had given Dax a lot of time with Odo to go over his own side of the argument. This wasn’t just going to be a showing of all the evidence they had gathered, but also a laundry list of every good thing Julian Bashir had done for Bajor and the alpha quadrant.

He was watching her going on about herself for a long while, when he suddenly felt someone coming up behind him, then moving again. A man sat down in the seat next to Sisko, a man who was unfamiliar to him.

“Fascinating,” his voice was soft, with a rough edge, grizzled. “Most Bajorans think this system of justice is extremely unfair, but still firmly support its existence at the same time. Why do you think that is?”

Sisko didn’t turn his head, just side-glanced. He wasn’t sure who this stranger was, but he was human. He was wearing a Starfleet uniform, but it didn’t suit his frame. Especially not an ensign rank on a gray haired oldster like him. His face was scarred. Sisko was working to place him from other crews that had visited the station in the last week, and drew up a blank.

“Having been here on Bajor for a long time, I’ve come to understand that Bajorans have a maudlin attachment to their pre-Occupation past,” Sisko sat up a little, and watched as Kai Winn circumnavigated the Amphra, expounding her own valor. “They were very quick to re-accept the djarras despite having lived without them for fifty years, simply because a man from their past had encouraged them. They were willing to kill for their beliefs.”

“I can see, there would be a sort of misplaced loyalty to the past,” the man seemed to think about this, and settled on a counter argument. “I should think though, that in time, reason and understanding cuts through even sentimentality about the past, and new ideas and thinking can be given their voice.”

Sisko risked turning his head, to look at Captain Samuel Morgan face to face.

“If that voice is too loud, it can scare away those who are not ready to move forward,” Sisko said, and watched the light of interest fill the Augment renegade’s eyes. “The Prime Directive tells us, in a way, not to push people farther than they are willing, or able, too quickly. Not that we shouldn’t intervene in some way, especially where mercy is concerned. But rather that we should respect the right of other worlds to move forward at their own pace.”

“Certainly...it may be that Doctor Bashir and his Songbird have a very good message, a new way of thinking, inspired by a very old source,” the man looked around the Amphra, and looked down towards the witness area, where Sisko now noticed Songbird’s attention on them, his eyes were wide in alarm and he was standing as still as a mouse confronting a cat.

“Do you think it will be a message that can be accepted by others?”

“Perhaps in time,” said Morgan, and he seemed to lean back for a moment. “But not at this time. Too much anger still exists. Too much loyalty to the glorious past. And I can see I am already overstaying my welcome…I remind more forward thinking people too much of that past, I’m afraid.”

Sisko thought about that comment for a moment. There were several layers to this man that he probably would never fully grasp, even if they had spent an entire year conversing.

“Can I ask why you came?”

“Just to see what Doctor Julian Bashir is really all about…to see perhaps if he would join us...” he frowned and shook his head, then stood to his feet. “But I can see he has other things to be worrying about right now. Maybe another time.”

“Do you think the trial will go in his favor?” Sisko asked, bluntly.

“I believe his prefrontal cortex is being overstimulated by whatever foreign agent the Ranjen has been slipping into his food. You might want to perform a blood cleanse during the recess. If I recall,” the man smiled, for the first time since their conversation began. “The madness of the ‘Kaj’ ends just before his journey into the wilderness to seek his past self begins...He becomes the Kai when the journey ends. But how long the journey takes...well...I suppose that depends on your definition of finding one’s self. It could be as short a trip as returning to Earth to visit the hospital where he was born. Or…?”

Silence. And Sisko felt his own smile taking up half his face.

“I do believe you are right,” said Sisko as the man slipped quietly away again. “I do believe you are right.”

\-------

Julian Bashir felt himself vomit before it appeared in his throat, and he bent over the edge of the biobed and released it all over the floor. His vision suddenly cleared up again and he gasped.

“I may have overdone it on the blood cleansers,” said Doctor Mish, the Sentinel Doctor who had been working on the puzzle of Julian’s brain chemistry. She was looking very peeved, and green for even an Orion. “It may take a day or two for his brain chemistry to correct itself now. Somehow it all got past my scanners…” she ran her tricorder over Julian’s body.

“Tevran Root…” Julian said mildly. “Used by traditional healers as a way to calm themselves and enter a visionary state. Ranjen Tellert may have thought he was helping me. And it didn’t come up in your scanners because it's a legal substance on Bajor, and non-toxic. I wouldn’t have guessed it either.”

“I bet Kai Winn bribed him into giving the Doctor Tevran Root,” Kira said hotly. “So he would go along with the Amphra idea.”

“No, I would have gone with it anyways,” Julian argued, but they seemed to be ignoring him.

“You can’t pull out now anyways,” said Constable Odo, not ignoring him pointedly so he would know he was being acknowledged. “The judge would rule resolutely in Winn’s favor if you tried. Do you want to give your testimony yourself?”

“No,” said Julian. “I’m still going to need time to recover, as Mish said, and you will do a good job I know. Just the thought of singing my own praises in a crowded area makes me feel sick inside.”

“That could be the blood cleansers,” Mish offered, unhelpfully.

“Julian,” Songbird leaned against him, having been sitting there quietly on the biobed next to him this whole time. “Please reconsider it. She was such a convincing orator.”

“Maybe, but we have the weight of evidence,” Odo said. “Which we’ll present, all of it, every witness...every recording...Shakaar cleared the way for us to use Vedic Noss’s tapes.”

“I thought it was against the law to use recorded evidence on somebody who wasn’t aware they were being investigated?” Songbird said.

“Ah,” said Odo, “But we now know that Noss wasn’t investigating Kai Winn...he was investigating Julian Bashir’s legitimacy as the Kaj a Kai. Another matter altogether. It therefore can be used as evidence.”

“A loophole,” said Sisko, the first words the man had spoken since they had beamed up to the _Defiant_ , with Shakaar’s permission.

Sisko had given his word as the Emissary that Julian would return for the rest of the trial. He didn’t have any choice, as Odo said, not if he wanted to practice medicine ever again. Exile back to the Federation was not his cup of tea any more than prison was. There was nothing for him on Earth but constant negative attention by security officers and people who disliked him for his genetics.

“What’s even better is that we now have a non-Kai related motive…” said Odo. “And in order to convince a spiritual people of wrongdoing, one must simply do as Quark always says...follow the latinum.”

Julian felt his world shaking for a moment, then leaned into his remaining husband for as much comfort as he could get.

“I’ve been dreaming feverishly of wanting to murder and kill Kai Winn and Gul Dukat,” he admitted out loud. “I haven’t been sane, and I don’t trust myself to be the spiritual leader of Bajor. After this trial, whatever happens, I’m leaving the planet. I can’t stay here…”

“We’ll be glad to have you back on the station,” Sisko smiled, strangely, and crossed his arms. “Captain Morgan did say the Kaj a Kai must begin his journey to find himself once the madness ends. Why does that journey have to take place on Bajor?”

“It doesn’t,” Kira said, smiling. “Not one bit of his journey has to be on Bajor.”

But Julian just felt hollow at their full acceptance of the idea of him being the Kaj, even though he had decided to play along with the idea at Songbird’s request.

_I’m putting myself literally in the hands of the people...and their strange Prophets. But if Odo can convince the assembled of Kai Winn’s guilt...then even plotting against my life will seem like a trifle compared to what Garak had unearthed. There will be no doubt about the consequences...for all of us._

He hadn’t told Constable Odo that the access codes needed for Garak’s personal records had come to him from a fevered vision in his brain after Garak’s death, but now it seemed to him that Garak’s spirit wanted to stay the course with him, until his revenge was through.

_I promise my love...I will keep going, and reveal all of your attackers. Then you can rest in peace. Even Opaka can’t disagree with that._

\------

Commander S’Vek wandered around the bridge pointedly, watching the planet they were circling in orbit on the viewscreen. His remaining crew had adjusted to the new timetable well in his opinion. It might only be for a day or two (or three) but half his crew were down on the planet, and he was cloaked, now scanning pointedly for any sign of another cloaked ship, or some shuttle that Captain Samuel Morgan may have escaped in. Not that they could arrest him in Bajoran space, but they could detain him and request extradition. Or prevent him from leaving.

It was not likely going to happen. Instead S’Vek was standing here, babysitting his ship as the Earth born members of his crew were on the planet, acting as a jury for Doctor Bashir...who was no longer a Federation citizen.

_But all humans can claim Earth citizenship by law...and the same goes for Vulcans and Vulcan. I guess the Federation can’t deny Doctor Bashir the right to a fair trial by his Earthling peers, if the Bajorans request it. We’re doing everything to keep them with us after all. Respecting this strange form of trial may convince them to come back to the negotiating table._

For now he was waiting, scanning all the cloak signatures of the Klingon ships docked around Bajoran space secretly to keep an eye out for Gul Dukat and the Dominion. Between _Sentinel_ , _Defiant_ , and the Klingon ships, there were too many signatures to discern any that might contain Morgan.

_If Ramirs wasn’t down on the planet...but I don’t think I would bother her to run the scans if she wasn’t, she’s been very withdrawn since her sister died…_

Nobody on the station had been brutal enough to ask her what had happened, but S’Vek had learned from Starfleet Security that Ramirs’ little sister had been transported to Colony 53 and died of her illness on the way there.

_Or rather, she was genetically engineered, and died of suspicious circumstances. Now we have a planet being held hostage by a psychopath in a ship the likes of which we have never seen before, and I have to consider the possibility that the younger Ramirs daughter wasn’t the first child engineered by her parents._

Now he was having to seriously consider the possibility that his first officer was a genetically engineered human, and since he couldn’t reveal publicly any details about her sister’s death, or the reason for it, he couldn’t openly investigate whether or not she could be, or request medical information about her. But he was just itching to know, as the human expression went.

Ramirs had become a vital member of the crew. He had depended on her for a great deal of support, and her tactical skills were excellent. Now he was second guessing himself and he hated that part of his Vulcan heritage. That suspicion about others. The need to investigate and uncover every secret. It was vital to security work, it had always served him well in that regard.

In regards to command...it served an entirely different purpose. You didn’t investigate your first officer unless they were acting out of character or in a way that could endanger the crew. She had been quite the opposite.

But he had reported his suspicion to Captain Sisko. The Captain had told S’Vek to keep it quiet. They had enough trouble right now. She was still a crew member, and even if she was an Augment, she wasn’t necessarily someone to distrust.

S’Vek would have to keep both of his eyes open. But for now, he had to consider the possibility that the man who Captain Sisko had encountered during the Amphra may have gotten through security due to the presence of Augments already on board the cloaked ships.

Again, targeting someone because they were an Augment, nothing more than prejudice. He hated himself for this side of him. He knew it wasn’t going to be an easy thing to get around. He had been willing to let Songbird into his mind, and then been horrified to discover he was as intelligent as a Vulcan was.

He would be much more cautious about every action he took as a Commander from here on out. Having Command meant having to compromise.

_She will stay, for now...but we’ll have to watch her. That is all. See where her sympathies lie. Right now, with Doctor Bashir surely, down on the planet._

And with that thought, he went back to watching Bajor rolling by.

\--------

“And so, as you can see, by the evidence presented, Doctor Bashir is both an incredibly caring and soulful individual,” Constable Odo stated, stepping quietly around the center of the Amphra, “And a vital contributor to Bajor’s medical community…”

Songbird shivered, feeling his stomach twisting. Odo had chosen to start with Bashir’s personal valors, leaving him free reign to present all the physical evidence of Kai Winn’s infamy as the last impression of the voters before the vote, a sound legal tactic. Since each side presented their evidence without counterarguments, it would be hard for Kai Winn to counter this evidence after that. Odo had started with Bashir’s kindness and loyalty to Bajor, his choice of Bajor over all other postings, and his willingness to put his patients always before himself. He had gone on to all the miraculous things he had done, yes the virus on Rubicun and his regeneration, but also the vaccines for Bajor, the Teplan Blight, just to name a few, and if he hadn’t cured Kai Opaka yet, it was because the Kai had decided to remain in the Gamma Quadrant to teach peace to a warring people. She had chosen not to return.

_I’m not sure that’s a convincing argument. The truth is, letting the dangerous men on that world loose without rehabilitation would continue the bloodletting._

Next to him on the bench, Julian Bashir was looking rather more clear eyed, but was still feigning some insanity to keep from being forced to testify himself. Odo and Dax had done a ton of work on his behalf, and knew the defense they were presenting from the inside out. Point in fact, Odo now called up Dax, to present to the assembled the evidence they had gathered proving that Kai Winn had planned to murder Julian Bashir.

The sickly business of the coronor’s evidence of Garak’s murder followed, the security video recording being showed on a viewscreen set up behind the judge, who had moved to the side to allow the assembled to view the evidence unblocked. It was a necessity in every murder investigation, but seeing Garak’s murder all over again in slow motion was too much for both him and Julian. Songbird turned his head towards Julian intent on burying his head into the man’s shoulder and discovered Julian had put his own head there, eyes closed, face a mask of misery.

“Oh god no, please…” he whispered. “I can’t do it…”

“Shhhh,” Songbird hushed him, and put an arm around him, putting their heads together. “It’s almost over.”

Next to Songbird, his father was sitting with a rather pensive look, silent and unmoving, watching the assembly. He hadn’t given any opinion, positive or negative, about the Bajoran legal process. But he had complained to Shakaar privately about it up until the trial. Admiral Ross would never publicly complain about a person’s religious beliefs. But when when he was alone...Songbird could tell from the look in his eyes that he was not happy at all. But he would deal with it, in his own dignified and reserved way.

Next came the video recording of Kai Winn in her office, and the man attacking Garak was the same as the one who came to meet her, clearly they were the same. Julian seemed to breathe a little easier now. It was a tense situation all around. Kai Winn’s argument was that the murder was staged, fake, and Garak was still alive somewhere. The coroner's report was therefore vital. This was all incontrovertible proof. Could this proof outshine the reputation of Kai Winn herself?

In her seat, Kai Winn was placid. She was clearly depending on her popularity, and considering the number of Bajorans here, it was statistically more probable that Bajorans would not care if a Cardassian was murdered, and would side with the Bajoran over the outsider.

And then...Julian smiled, as Odo had called one more witness...a Bajoran Doctor named Dekar.

Across from them, Kai Winn’s face went suddenly pale, her eyes widened, and Songbird could almost feel the pulse in her veins quicken from across the Amphra.

“So...why would Kai Winn want to kill Doctor Bashir? What was Bashir doing that would upset the Kai? He wasn’t planning to accept the position of Kaj even if offered,” Odo put out his hands. A person could turn down the position of Kai or Kaj under the spiritual laws of Bajor. “What had Doctor Bashir discovered at the hospital that Kai Winn Adami had wanted to leave buried?”

Odo turned to the audience, and then turned to look at Dekar for a moment. The man was clearly waiting.

“We now know that Cardassians and Bajorans were both involved in the project to genetically engineer children…” he held out a hand. “Doctor Dekar Remm has been one of the Doctors in charge of investigating Pok Tol hospital over the years after the Occupation ended. And he has been helping me go through all the records of patients...and the staff that worked at Pok Tol hospital, as recorded by the Cardassian Government. Doctor…”

The Bajoran man was old, and looked at Kai Winn for a moment, glaring. The Kai, for her part, was a trapped and paralyzed being, a thing of pure fear and panic.

“My charity has been working for years at Pok Tal, trying to unmask all the people involved in the creation of this hospital. We are all aware of the horrors that children were subjected to there,” he waited. “But Odo and Dax have put together a reminder for us, and for our Starfleet friends here who might not know our history. I think we should have a look at why Doctor Bashir’s visit to the hospital was such a huge act of mercy and self-sacrifice on his part. Why an Augment should not have been sent at all. And why genetic engineering of children is banned on both Bajor and in the Federation. It is not because Augments are lacking in personal merit in any way. A small warning, this is not going to be pretty.”

Songbird had to hold back his stomach as the censored remains of Bajoran and Cardassian corpses on examination tables were shown for the room, at least one unrecognizable as either race. It was a short video, not meant to make people sick, but just to shock them, to remind people of the strange configurations a body could take with the right DNA changes. Bajorans were sturdy people, and he didn’t see anyone becoming sick in the audience. He was suddenly distracted by Bashir slumping against him, shaking, eyes shut tight.

_He’s remembering...as I do...how painful Augmentation can be. Very very painful. His regeneration on Rubicun III, also must have been painful._

“These experiments were painful,” Dekar seemed to be reading Songbird’s mind. “And horrible to witness, and Doctor Bashir, having been through the genetic engineering process, would know how it _feels_ …” Dekar turned to look over at them sympathetically, pointing a hand in order to draw attention to how stricken the Doctor was now, bent over Songbird’s knees, shivering. “The medical community wanted Pok Tal hospital exhumed, and asked Kai Winn for help, but we hadn’t asked for Bashir to do the job,” Dekar sighed. “Sending someone to that nightmare who would experience internally what he himself had once been through, was not what we in the medical community had wanted. We objected to his appointment, and I became suspicious of her intent. Kai Winn made Bashir her Haj so that when he took over Pok Tal, she could limit his activities and give him orders he would have to follow in order to respect Bajoran tradition. She limited him to records of patients only, and to identifying the bodies. And now we know _why_. Let me introduce you to the Bajoran director of Pok Tal hospital for the last two years it was running. The person who escaped with all the grant funding provided by the Cardassian government once it was forced to shut down.”

At Dekar’s direction, Dax pulled up another image to the main screen for them, and everyone was suddenly silenced. It was a middle aged woman, possibly in her forties, with a long braid on her shoulder...eyes stark and steely, mouth in a stern frown...it was...

“That’s Kai Winn!” someone said, up in the Bajoran side of the stands, and a large amount of gasping, and shocked exclamations filled the air.

The judge, for the first time since proceedings started, banged his gavel for silence.

“Thank you Doctor Dekar,” said Odo, dismissing the witness. “Might I say that putting Garak in charge of getting the staff records from the hospital was, on Doctor Bashir’s part, a genius move, as all previous attempts to access those records had been met with defeat. Who knew that such a plain and simple tailor could possess such skills?”

The flattery Odo intended towards Garak’s memory was so poignant, that Songbird looked down at his hands to hide his tears. Julian was trembling, and choking back tears.

This was exactly how Garak would want to be remembered. But Odo wasn’t done yet.

“We also now know, thanks to Garak’s efforts, that Kai Winn went by a few different names during the Occupation,” said Constable Odo, taking over the Amphra with the power of his gravelly and commanding voice. “She was in fact born to a wealthy family that fell on hard times, and that her birth name is Shern Niara. You may recognize the name Shern, as one of the major voting members of the Vedic Assembly, put into place by Kai Winn during her time there.”

“Shern,” said Kira nearby, in a soft whisper. “Oh Prophets...”

“She became the director of Pok Tal hospital, assuming the name Raima Miva,” Odo carried on, and Shakaar, also sitting nearby, breathed the word ‘Raima’ pointedly. Songbird kept these names to heart to look up at the next recess. “After the hospital closed she escaped, assuming her current identity as Winn Adami. She later was imprisoned by the Cardassians as she has always claimed. But, with the help of a Cardassian ally who also worked at the hospital, she was transferred to a low security Cardassian civilian prison, to prevent her from having to work hard in a prison camp with other prisoners of conscience.”

Odo seemed to laugh, and shake his head, and picked up another PADD from the table of evidence he had been presenting. He had a lot of physical evidence to be shared and everyone would be free to read it all over before giving their own vote.

“It was quite a cushy prison, we now know, as the money she stole from Pok Tal was over five hundred bars of gold pressed latinum. She used this money to bribe the Cardassians into protecting her during the Occupation. And she has been since funnelling money from the reparations fund from the Cardassian Government sent to Bajor to her bank account on Prekka IV. She’s been getting help from members of her family now in the government, who helped her get voted into place as Kai. She even tried obtaining a position as First Minister...” Odo turned to briefly look over at Shakaar, then pressed on. “It all amounts to a nice little escape plan. Once she and her associates were done using the power of the Kai to milk Bajor for all it was worth, they could move on and set up somewhere else. Who knows? She may have even enjoyed being a spiritual leader, despite controlling the ideology of the people of Bajor to protect her own interests. In the end,” he stopped, and paused. “In the end, she signed the orders for over 600 unlawful genetic procedures at Pok Tal hospital that resulted in many deaths, and many more people who are forced to live in institutions now for how crippled the procedures have made them. This is the woman you have made your Kai.”

A murmur rippled across the Amphra, and Odo was clearly winding down, putting the PADD back on the table and turning to address the audience at last.

“Kai Winn’s collaborators in this mess wanted all loose ends dealt with before this information could get out. We have transit records of messages from Prekka IV to Bajor requesting she shut down the Pok Tal investigation permanently. But it was Garak, not the Doctor, who had been the greater threat, and got his own payback in the end for his murder. The truth, which he was not known for, has now been laid bare for all of Bajor to see.”

Songbird could feel the horror in the Amphra, the thrill of dread, the absolute astonishment and the question of the day, the hour, the second was clear; was this true?

“I am now presented with the unfortunate circumstances of pointing out to the Amphra that some of her own suspected co-conspirators are in the audience. I would ask a recess, and permission from the Judge to dismiss these suspects from the jury pool. I have no doubt that in this circumstance, a jury of the public will be more amenable…”

A large amount of whispering and conversation followed, and the judge banged his gavel, and agreed to allow the recess to go over which jurists should be removed, and added that there would be no transport allowed off Bajor by anyone who might try to escape.

In her seat, Kai Winn was not moving. She was blank. A ghost. An emotionless statue. Then, in a move that was so very very overdramatic in Songbird’s opinion, she fainted, onto the floor in a heap.

Several Bajoran audience members gasped and there was a rush by security to surround her before one of her supporters could sneak in and slip her away. Beside him in his seat, Julian was now chuckling, giggling, and shaking his head back and forth and he started talking to himself.

“I promised my love, didn’t I? I promised, and I’m not done yet. They’ll all pay…”

Clearly, he still was suffering from a chemical imbalance in his brain.

_Or maybe he really is touched by the Prophets…_


	21. Distraction

The outcome was obvious, the laws written out on parchment as old as the Amphra itself, and older than anyone who was present to witness. One would be condemned, and one would be freed. Life imprisonment and labor, with no release, for anyone found guilty in the Amphra. No penalty or consequence, for the other. On other worlds it would be an automatic death sentence, but Bajor had been drawing back the death penalty in preparation for joining the Federaton, which had no death penalty for any reason as law. It was not yet known whether Bajor would stop the execution of prisoners, but had temporarily halted them for the time being.

But dead or alive, the outcome was final. And so was the outcome of this vote. No Bajoran could turn their spiritual blinders on when the word ‘collaborator’ was being used. Odo had made a point to use the word and now, as the votes were tallied and the numbers went up on the board, the word clearly showed its impact on a usually spiritually aligned people. Almost unanimous. The guilty verdict was announced and the condemned carried away to serve out a lifetime of labor and servitude.

_The hermitary Kai enters the poor life of isolation and labor in order for the Kaj to ascend into his rightful place...well it is an interesting interpretation of that prophecy._

But he wondered if the Prophets in their wormhole dwelling place really did know more about what the future would hold?

_Temporal mechanics, always one of the downsides of being an Augment. You can calculate all the variables quickly, but with temporal mechanics they are mind bogglingly infinite. You can predict the future easily when mere numbers are involved. But when time travel becomes a variable things get a little trickier. And predestination paradoxes are a nightmare..._

The innocent victor of the Amphra stood with his friends in the center, all of them with looks of relief on all their faces. Admiral Ross shook the Doctor’s hand, Constable Odo was having a pleasant congratulatory moment with the judge, who was complimenting his defense.

Captain Samuel Morgan watched the celebrations and conversations pointedly, curiosity in his mind. The future Kai, if this was the path he was going to take, was looking a lot less stubbly as well, having cleaned up for the day of the vote, as if to make a pointed statement that his madness was over and he was ready to begin his journey. He still had two Ranjens with him, different ones, hovering around him and fretting over his well being, and that clever little Songbird was constantly on their case to leave him alone.

He took a pensieve step back to keep the other Augments from possibly noticing him. He had wisely changed his disguise to be more concealing than the impish ensign role he had taken on to speak with Sisko. Now he was masquerading as a Bajoran. Well if the Cardassian Gul Dukat could do it…

The crowds were starting to break up in a flurry of loud conversations, debate, and hearsay. Or heresy, as the case may be. There was some flurry of activity around First Minister Shakaar from some of his advisors, possibly discussing the relatives of the former Kai who were members of government and potential collaborators. The Bajoran medical Doctors were talking about Pok Tal and the future of Bajor’s traditional healing arts in light of all of this. The Starfleet officers were slowly, and quietly, beaming back to their postings. The Vedics were silently departing, heads bowed, many of them praying.

_Time for me to leave…_

He was just turning when he noticed something rather interesting that he felt might come into play in the future.

Major Kira, standing on her own, looking more stricken than she should have been. Was she contemplating the uncertain spiritual future of Bajor, a Bajor without a Kai to lead them? Especially if Doctor Bashir, true to his word, accepted the Trials of The Kaj and left Bajor, for who knows how long he would take, gathering up a Faction of his own? Was he ever planning to return to Bajor? What future would a truly spiritual people have in absence of a Kai, and with half the Vedic Assembly possibly subject to legal investigation?

_Bedlam...Bedlam will give the Orions and the Dominion the leading edge into Bajor if the Federation leaves...this is not the time to mince about, and Sisko knows it. While Starfleet is distracted with Bajor and the Dominion front, I shall take my chance._

Time to go. He had preparations to make. And a member of his Faction was in jeopardy on Colony 53. It was a cry for help that he could not ignore. 

\-------

_“Don’t let the hours of the errant moon go to waste. Now is the time; go to her.”_

The cell was very silent when he entered it, his two Ranjen aides behind him, appointed by the Vedic Assembly to protect him, and this time, from a religious order that wasn’t associated with his predecessor in any way. He was on high alert for any reaction, any at all, with Kai Opaka’s words burning a hole in his chest as he entered. But the prisoner was just sitting by herself, this time in a gray prison uniform, her face turned to the cell window contemplating that errant moon in silence. He came over to her side, leaving his two aides by the cell door.

“What do you want with me now, Doctor?” she said, her expression turning sour. “Have you come to gloat over me?”

“No, I’ve had my ten pounds of flesh, and I think Garak’s spirit is satisfied with the outcome,” Julian had been told he had ten minutes, but he intended to make this quick. “I’m just here to fulfill the Bajoran tradition. A Haj informs his or her Kai of his intent to take the Trials of the Kaj, and must ask for her blessing.”

“Oh to the Pah-Wraiths with tradition,” Kai Winn huffed, throwing away all pretense. “Bajoran tradition would have had people from my family’s djarra waxing floors! My parents turned their backs on tradition and built a _real_ business. And the Occupation almost destroyed us. My family fled to Prekka IV and my sister and I stayed to send them money to rebuild their business there,” she turned to look at him, putting on her mask of haughty spiritual enlightenment. “Tradition is a very easy thing, you can cleverly invent a tradition and people will accept it as the true word of the Prophets. Who never once smiled on me however hard I prayed for it. I had to take everything I wanted, I was never given any of it. I am certain now my family will find a way out for me, they are just as clever.”

She was truly a chameleon woman. But she couldn’t hide now.

“Perhaps they will,” said Bashir. “I’m certain they will try. Or perhaps an assassin will find you in the dark of night before they ever reach you…” he paused a little for affect, but she was unmoving. “If I have your blessing, I’ll return to Deep Space Nine, and become a Doctor again, and search for my past self until I am either proven unworthy or I actually can find a way to save Kai Opaka and bring her home. The idea to use my blood is interesting...but I already know it won’t change her mind about what she’s doing for the people of the Gamma Quadrant. I might still visit her, and see if she succeeded in helping the people she stayed behind to care for.”

“She always did care for the needs of others, rather more than necessary,” said Kai Winn, her face filled with regret. “Adoration and respect are far more useful.”

For a moment, Julian Bashir considered this hard, firm and proud woman. Had she never been loved? For a moment, he pitied her.

“I suppose you can have my blessing, for what it's worth. I hope you fail your journey and the Pah-Wraiths burn your intestines out. The first Trial of the Kaj is the Fire Caves. They are a fussy wrathful bunch. Now...” she sat up. “If you have what you wanted, then you should leave. Before I change my mind.”

Julian considered her for a moment, her face was scrunched into this excruciating mask of hate. As such, all the pity was gone.

“As you wish, your Eminence.”

\---------

Vedic Tor Esten waited quietly for Julian Bashir to enter the room. What was left of the Vedic Assembly had unanimously voted for Julian Bashir to take the Trials of the Kaj. Even if he failed, there were now too many prophecies to not have him try. They would give him the chance to prove that he had been chosen by the Prophets, that he was the reincarnation of a past Kai, here to heal Bajor of...well...the damage caused by the decades of Occupation and the terrible Kai he was replacing. Now if only Kai Winn gave her blessing. It was the last step they needed to take before he could become the Kaj.

_She will take every opportunity to diminish him. If she gives the blessing, she’ll have an alternative motive, for certain._

When Julian Bashir finally walked into the assembly, in the company of the two new Ranjen aides appointed to him, he was walking slowly, like a man walking towards his death. And yet there was an impish look of delight in his eyes.

This man was clearly in good spirits. He had shaved himself. He was in his full Bajoran medical officer’s uniform, freshly pressed and his shoes polished. His previous madness, potentially caused by Tavran Root, was almost completely diminished. Ranjen Jak said he was still talking in his sleep, but he may also have been talking to his Songbird, who had refused to leave Bajor until after Bashir finished his first Trial of the Kaj. The Fire Caves.

Really, the trials were the same for the Kaj as for the Kai, except the Kaj was supposed to take them on, or around, his birthday month...which was coming up soon. Since the Trials could take months, even years, starting them near the date was good enough for them.

But it hadn’t passed Tor’s notice that Doctor Bashir was born in the winter, during those months when the planet Earth was farthest from its sun. The month when humans celebrated holidays surrounding the harvest and giving thanks. Today was the month humans called October, and soon the citizens of DS9 would be celebrating the festival that was known as Halloween. A day for children, of sweet candy and playful tricks. It was rather funny thinking of the people of Earth, the rather duty bound Starfleet officers, still observing celebrations such as this. It was wonderful to imagine the children on Earth dressing up in costumes collecting candy from their neighbors.

She had been studying Earth’s history of festivals and seasons as she had been learning more about Julian Bashir’s place of birth and had been delighted by how many human holidays incorporated traditions that were purely meant for children. Bajoran tradition tended to neglect the young in that regard.

“Haj Bashir,” Tor said, remembering the time she had accidentally called him Haj Julian, forgetting that humans put their given names first. “Have you gotten the blessing from...Kai Winn…?”

Winn was still the Kai. She had not denounced the Emissary, or else they had no proof of it yet, and so there was nothing they could do about it. But it felt like thick oatmeal stuck in Tor’s throat to say it.

“She did,” Bashir sounded rather surprised. “She said I have to visit the Fire Caves and hoped I would be burned? Am I in any danger there?”

“Ah,” Vedic Remat chuckled. “That is one of the Trials of the Kaj. No, you won’t be in any danger, physically, unless one gets loose from their prison of stone. Confronting the Pah-Wraiths with your intention to follow the Prophets is to confront your own inner faults. They rarely appear, but they never fail to appear for a presumptive Kai...they enjoy breaking the will and the spirit and undermining your determination to serve the Prophets.”

“I see…” for a moment his eyes looked uncertain, and he looked down. “I’m not the least bit confident they won’t succeed. I am not a spiritual man. I have no intention of lying about that. I am a man of evidence, of science, just like Kai Winn said. But…” he sighed. “But the spirit of my dead husband has been communicating with me in my sleep and so has Kai Opaka, and I can’t ignore that there’s something, perhaps telepathic, happening. I have to...I don’t know. Have faith that I’m doing the right thing.”

Tor felt a warmth for this controversial human filling her. The Prophets had never said once that their teachings were only for Bajorans, but to see someone struggling in their faith, and not even aware they have it, was endearing. Humans could be very stubborn about not accepting something unless they saw it for themselves. The Emissary was proof positive of that, he had fought his appointment for a very long time, and he had, indeed, spoken to the Prophets. But here was the man who could very well become the first human Kai of Bajor, trying to justify the spiritual path he was taking in scientific ways. It was very endearing.

Others would find it insulting. But she had always felt that an open mind was needed in order to hear the will of Prophets.

“In every action we take, every step on the floor, every bird that we see out the window, every pebble on the ground we disturb, the flower petals we smell, the clothing we wear, at every moment in our lives, the opportunity opens for the Prophets to speak to us. We may not understand what we are seeing, they are very mysterious even when they are openly communicating with us. In a small quiet voice the will of the Prophets is with us...and we will not always expect it.”

Bashir seemed to start a little at this, looking up, and then seemed to leave off the thought, looking away.

“What are you thinking?” Tor said, not letting him move away from the moment.

“Old human writings talk about the still small voice of God that is supposed to be inside of everyone. And a lot of humans do still believe in God, but don’t openly talk about it. But for all our advancement, we share a lot of the same history and past with other races and cultures, so many things in common that sometimes I think that it cannot be an accident. I have doubt.”

Tor just left him to silently think for a moment, and the other Vedics were quiet. She was only temporarily the head of the Assembly until a new Kai could be appointed. Most Kais appointed the minimum necessary number of Vedics to the Assembly required to perform tasks such as this, with the rest coming in over the years as the people voted for them in the temples. Most of the Vedics now seated here had been appointed by the people. Kai Winn had worked hard to get as many of Kai Opaka’s people out of the Assembly as she could. In the absence of the Kai there was a lot of work to do to rebuild the Assembly. She could not leave anything to sit idly in doubt, and certainly not the Kaj. He had been waiting long enough.

“Now I must ask you. Will you, Haj Julian Bashir, promise to fulfill the obligations of the Kaj, to act as healer and interim spiritual caretaker of Bajor, and to undergo the Trials of the Kaj?”

Julian Bashir was looking at her directly when she asked, then he turned his head for a moment. The Kaj was temporarily granted many of the responsibilities of the Kai. He couldn’t appoint Vedics to the Assembly, or change Bajoran spiritual law. But he could very much hold gatherings in the temple to pray and minister, and he could very much contribute to the bulk back catalog of Prophecies and spiritual writings of Bajor, which many other Kais before him had done. The Kaj was a reincarnated Kai, so he would certainly have a connection to the Prophets. And have much wisdom to share with the people of Bajor. She really wanted to see what he could do.

“I will,” said Bashir, and he smiled, as if his decision to take this spiritual vow was still a surprise to him. Maybe it was. “I have so much curiosity now about the Bajoran faith, those prophecies, all of it.”

“We all still do,” said Vedic Remat with a hearty smile. “The mysteries are never fully revealed. You’ll spend a lifetime discovering new truths in every verse.”

“I’m sure Ranjen Jak and Ranjen Frim will have a lot of work ahead of them teaching you the Prophecies and preparing you for the Trials,” Tor said as a way of dismissal, rising to her feet. “I wish you luck Kaj Bashir, on your path to finding your true self. May the Prophets go with you.”

\------

“Julian! Can you believe the size of this place? She was _loaded_!”

Oh he could believe it. Julian Bashir looked up from where he had been studying the parchments that Ranjen Jak had put in front of him earlier that day, feeling really silly sitting here in Kai Winn’s old office, reading ancient Bajoran texts. Especially more silly as Songbird flounced into his office unannounced with one of Kai Winn’s gold pointed hats perched on top of his head, followed by a very flustered Ranjen Frim and a highly amused Shavi.

“There now, you aren’t permitted to wear the garments of the Kai…” said the Ranjen hotly.

“Well I don’t want to wear them,” said Julian pointedly. “Maybe we should donate them to the poor?”

“Nononono,” said Songbird, ignoring the Ranjen still, who was trying to herd him out. “Auction them off and then donate that money, you’ll get more bang for your buck. I mean, what is a hungry person going to do with a mother of pearl zipper? How do the Bajorans even make zippers in mother of pearl? I want mother of pearl zippers on my clothes, Shavi!”

“I’m sure they have very skilled artisans and tailors who…” Julian paused for a moment. “Make them…”

Songbird stopped, then pointedly sighed and finally handed the golden cap to the flustered Ranjen.

"Julian…” he came over to stand beside him. “I really need to say it. You still need time to grieve and deal with your pain before you go to these Fire Caves. I don’t want you confronting supernatural beings in this state. Oh fine,” he turned and glared as the Ranjen had finally resorted to grabbing him by the arm, and he yanked himself free pointedly. “I’ll leave as soon as my husband dismisses me himself. But we’ve barely had a moment alone together since the trial ended without you two interrupting for some reason!”

“Well, the Kai doesn't traditionally have a spouse unless they were married before their appointment…” Ranjen Jak said wisely. “We’re still adjusting to the change in Kais.”

“We _were_ married before his appointment...and…”

“And there are still traditions related to a spouse visiting the Kai at the official residence…” Frim said with a sniff.

“You mean I have to live away from him?”

“It is the tradition, the Kai must have peace and quiet to contemplate the mysteries of the Prophets.”

“I’m not the Kai,” Julian corrected them all quietly, and pulled the scroll closer to him in annoyance. “Not yet. I am not understanding what I’m reading about Jak. What does it mean? _‘The Kaj will travel to a place of wonder...and heal the mind of his brother…’_ I don’t have a brother.”

“Brother could have another meaning. The Prophecies are open to much interpretation.”

“Trakor used the familial form of the word here,” Julian protested.

“I’m sure then you will have a proper brother by the time the prophecy is fulfilled,” said Ranjen Frim, giving Songbird a very ugly glare of distaste as the musician opened up the Kai’s personal scroll collection to start rifling through. “Those writings are for the Kai only. Close that immediately.”

“Songbird, stop touching everything!” Shavi complained. “I need to count it first.”

“Both of you stop,” Julian said, now very very frustrated. “I’ve been given the Kai’s housing temporarily. This place belongs to the Bajoran Temple and to the Office of the Kai, not to me. I probably don’t have the authority to do anything with it, so Shavi, stop taking an inventory, we’re not selling anything.”

Shavi had been sitting quietly by the door with a PADD in hand, and now she was looking quite flustered.

“No, I wasn’t well, I mean…”

“Both of you, out,” Julian finally decided that Frim was right about him needing quiet. “I need to study all this, and prove I understand it, before I can go to the Fire Caves. And I don’t want to give the Pah-Wraiths any opening in my mind, any doubt that these…” he looked down at the scroll. “Are the teachings of the Prophets.”

“Of course they are,” said Songbird. “I should visit the Fire Caves with you.”

“The Kaj takes this journey alone,” Frim said, and he hastily shooed the two invaders out of the office. “Out!”

Julian sighed as the door finally closed, Frim leaving with them, and Jak put a new scroll in front of him, taking the previous one out of his hands.

“There is no need for distress,” said Jak gently. “You will have the necessary Prophecies read in time for your trip to the Fire Caves.”

“I only have to do the work of an entire lifetime,” Julian said in frustration. “Vedics have their entire career to study these. I have to depend on my genetically engineered mind to memorize and interpret them, and who knows if the Pah-Wraiths will even bother asking me about knowing any of this? They’re going to test my faith in the Prophets...not my memorization skills.”

Ranjen Jak stood softly in place, quiet and contemplative for a moment.

“Where the mind cannot go, the soul wanders freely…”

“Ranjen?”

Jak came over to his side, and looked down at him, turning sideways for a moment, looking at his ear. Julian wasn’t wearing an earring, a point that the Ranjen had mentioned only once since being appointed to him, and only ever drew attention to with his eyes, not his voice.

“To become a learned Kai in such a short expanse of time is not what you are tasked with. You _were_ a Kai, in a past life, which is forgotten. You are not tasked with memorizing what you already should know but have forgotten. You are tasked with _remembering_ it. Feeling it. Returning to it like you return to a warm bed every night. An old song you heard in your youth that you hear again as an adult and fills you with memory.”

“So...the Pah-Wraiths…”

“The Pah-Wraiths will already _know_ you. You are therefore going to confront beings whom you have already dealt with before and who will be testing you _again_. When you do, they will _recognize_ you and know how to challenge you, in a way you will already have been challenged before. Your pagh will already know what to do.”

“If I already know all this, I wouldn’t have to study it!”

“Perhaps not, but would one who is faithful not enjoy studying these mysteries for themselves? Did you not tell the Vedic Assembly you were curious about the faith? Studying the Prophecies is the primary job of the faithful. Your curiosity is the sign of a mind ready to begin the journey. The final destination isn’t the reason you walk the spiritual path, the journey itself is the reason.”

Julian leaned back and had to laugh. He did say he wanted to learn the Bajoran texts.

“Humans say something similar. Also we have this; ‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.’”

“Interesting,” said Jak, considering it for a moment. “What a wise quotation. What is it from?”

“A snippet of a poem by a very famous writer in Earth’s past. I’ll show it to you if you like?”

A look of amusement sparkled in the Ranjen’s eyes.

“A curious and open mind and a willingness to share and teach? I think, Kaj Bashir, that you are very much ready to visit the Fire Caves.”

\-------

“Well do you want to hear it?” said Shavi, as Frim finally left them alone in Kai Winn’s vast and well appointed lounge.

Songbird was stretched grumpily and miserably out across the very very large and plush embroidered chair, flicking one of the gaudy tassels with his hand and glaring at the floor. Frim had gone over basically all the rules to follow if they wanted to have any access to the Kaj, and then had left them, promising them lunch later...if they behaved themselves.

“I suppose so…” Songbird sighed.

“All in total, Kai Winn spent an exorbitant fourteen hundred bars of gold plated latinum on this house and herself during her time here. It's an estimate, I’m guessing at what her culinary tastes and entertainment might have entailed. I would love to look at her expense book, but I doubt they’ll let us...”

Songbird sat up and whistled slowly. They hadn’t told Frim and Jak how much they had investigated into the history of this house. Opaka hadn’t lived here, she’d live in the temple where she taught, rarely making use of the Official Residence. It had been spartan during those years with only what was required. She was known to receive many gifts from people, but invariably gave them away immediately. When Kai Winn took over...well…

“Most of the furniture is antique, or custom ordered, clothing is tailored, even the plates she ate on are unique,” Shavi sat up. “All custom made as well. And all the art is unique and possibly stolen. She used the money meant for the caretaking and upkeep of the residence to make it as opulent as possible. But she short changed the servants, scrimped every dollar where they were concerned, and had some weird rules. Like no electricity, which would have been expensive to run on Bajor's credit energy system. And she instructed all her servants to look for the cheapest bargains on anything that wasn’t her own meals or personal comforts, like not using the good soap to clean the floors except in her own rooms…using half the required oil for the lamps to make things last...”

“What a skinflint!”

“The things Kai Winn bought would still belong to her, but as part of her...punishment, everything she owned was turned over to the government. They decided to give it to whoever the next Kai will be,” said Shavi, and looked around her momentarily. “She had a fortune here. The Kai’s stipend is not that much money. She must have received a lot of donations from the community. Or a lot of bribes.”

“They aren’t going to follow up on the money,” Songbird sighed. “The judgement of the Amphra is the last step. The Vedic Assembly will probably just leave it up to Julian once he’s Kai…”

“If he becomes Kai soon. In the meantime, this place is empty, and it won’t be out of the rules for the Doctor to sell this stuff and refurnish the place to his own taste, and put the money back into the Kai’s residence, hire new staff, they all quit by the way, and perhaps…”

“Perhaps...but it would probably be too much to ask that he contribute money that doesn’t belong to him yet, to help our cause…”

“It's a good cause, so I think the Vedic Assembly would even approve of it. And Julian will want to do something with Kai Winn’s nefariously gained wealth that shows he’s a more generous candidate for the position than she was. Charitable works are a part of his new title of Kaj as much as they are any other Bajoran monastic. He’ll be involved in a lot of charity work. So a concert to raise money for Cardassian Orphans still here on Bajor is a good start. And the perfect cause to dedicate to Garak’s memory. And you will have a proper venue to sing your song…” she smiled with genuine warmth. “But without his support, it might not happen, orphanages are overwhelmingly kept under the auspices of Bajor’s temples and Vedics, with only a little government input. It has to come from the Vedic Assembly…”

“Hmmm…” Songbird looked around. “If we can find anyone who would want to buy Kai Winn’s dodgy...Quark.”

The answer had hit him as he was saying it. If there was anyone who would be willing to have an auction, and know who to invite that might share her taste, it was the redoubtable Ferengi, and it might even smooth things over for them for the lost ticket sales. Of course there’d be an auctioneer’s fee.

“We’d better ask Julian first, before we ask Quark. Knowing him, he’ll take things way out of hand, and before we even know it he’ll have sold a single hat to fifty different buyers…”

\-------

“Absolutely not!”

Kaj Julian Bashir put his foot down, even as he was going through Kai Winn’s...fascinating wardrobe looking for anything that was unisex and not too flashy that he could wear to the Fire Caves. Julian Bashir owned so little clothing himself. But, the gaudy array in here...well perhaps his medical uniform was not out of the question after all.

“But…”

“We are not selling Kai Winn’s stuff so you and Quark can financially benefit!”

“I said it’s a charity concert!”

“So that Quark can benefit, then,” Julian turned around. “You can have a charity concert without having to boost sales by using my name…”

“ _Your_ name? Of all the arrogance...this is Garak’s concert! His memorial! Julian I don’t care about the money, but you act like this is some big stunt for me to get rich off of you!”

Ranjen Frim knew exactly the moment when Julian Bashir’s reasonable argument against greed was turned over to a more personal grievance.

“Garak’s still talking to me, in my mind, every night, from wherever he now dwells in the great beyond. I’m not done fulfilling his last request! Having a memorial for him, when he’s not even dead…”

“You need to get your brain chemistry checked again,” said Songbird. “I believe well enough in the Prophets who Sisko proved are actual entities living in a wormhole, but you are talking about ghosts.”

“The Kais of the past have communed with the dead,” said Ranjen Jak softly. “And brought them back home to us from the Celestial Temple to commune with. If the Kaj says he is speaking with the dead...then he is.”

“My answer is final,” said the Kaj, turning his back so that he was facing the closet again. “No. No. And no.”

“I don’t believe this...I’ve been writing this song for over a week now, I’ve found a great charity that Garak supported when he was alive, and you want me to just give it up…”

“Songbird...enough. Just...let it go.”

“Kaj,” Frim slipped forward and came between Julian and the closet for a moment. “I hate to say this...but I agree with Songbird.”

“I…what?” Songbird looked just as surprised as he did.

“It is not fair to him. Each person grieves in their own way for the dead. To Songbird, a musical celebration is his way of mourning. It is not your place to decide how he chooses to remember the dead. And if you are in communion with Garak, then perhaps you should take time to ask the spirit whether or not he approves, before making such a decision on your own.”

“I didn’t know if I was going to like him,” said Shavi. “I generally don’t like religious people…”

“And the minute we disagree on another subject you will change your mind,” Frim said wisely. “But fair is fair. I think the Vedic Assembly would indeed allow the sale of Kai Winn’s...interesting furnishings...for the cause of Cardassian Orphans. And you need to consider the upkeep of this house. Whatever money does not go into the concert will go into buying basic necessities for you.”

“Such as clothes,” said Jak mournfully, picking up a fur stole that, well, was not very Kai-like. 

“Food and necessities for the time you remain here on Bajor. Which could be a short time, or a lifetime. It is better to take care of it now, before Kai Winn’s family pokes their nose in and tries to make their own claim to it all. And they will try...believe me,” Frim felt his hackles rise. “I have had nothing but communiques from Vedic Shern ever since the trial, asking what you were doing with her sister’s property...almost as if…”

“They were hiding something here…” Kaj Bashir got a pointedly hard look on his face, and Songbird looked momentarily shocked. “Maybe we _should_ have an inventory Shavi. And I’ll ask Chief O’Brien and Constable Odo to come and examine everything.”

Songbird seemed to realize the monstrous box of problems he had opened, for he looked stricken.

“I...I just wanted…I didn’t think...I’m sorry I...”

“Songbird…I’m the one who needs to apologize,” the Kaj moved over to his husband to make amends, tears in his eyes. “You are right. It is a beautiful gesture, writing a song for him, to sing for the orphans. I haven’t been able to even think about him being dead while he’s been in my mind…I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Shavi quietly pointed the two Ranjen’s towards the door to give the pair privacy, and this time, Frim was in agreement. The Kaj would need a little bit more time to grieve before visiting the Fire Caves after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't made given names yet for Jak and Frim, they were sort of meant to be one note characters, but I can kind of see bringing them back for more in the future, having them travel with Julian to the station. I might give them full names. I'm just getting a bit tired of making up names for Bajorans, I've never been good at names.
> 
> I promise, this part is coming to a close, but I do want to tidy up Bashir's side of the story before really getting into Data's side of it again. I told you I was having trouble telling their stories at the same time, trying to decide whether to go back and forth, or tell one story and then the other, well now you can see why. A lot happens to Bashir in such a short period of time on Bajor before much of Data's side of the story really takes place. Its weird timing.
> 
> We will be getting back to all the Factions too, believe you me I haven't forgotten them at all.


	22. The Path of Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really churning out chapters now. I hope everyone is enjoying them!

Odo suppressed his chuckle as Chief O’Brien squatted down in an undignified fashion to scan through the floorboards of the house, looking for traces of anything that could be hidden. They had so far scanned every other room, finding all sorts of sketchy objects as they went. A lamp that may have been stolen recently, he would have to double check, it had certainly looked familiar to him. Works of rare art from Bajor and Cardassia, potentially also stolen. Their group was now in the top most apartments, the Kai’s bedroom and living space, and Dax had already started tackling Kai Winn’s vast collection of clothing. Odo was currently waiting for Bajoran Security to arrive, whom he had called immediately upon learning what they would be doing. He planned to have them take away the evidence to lock up for his inspection later. 

The Vedic Assembly and the Bajoran Government had meant well, donating all this fancy furniture to the next Kai, but the amount of money the Kai had spent, and the potentially stolen valuable works of art here, had been so much, too much to have been obtained from just the Kai’s modest stipend. Odo was certain there was more to this than simply funneling money from the Cardassian reparations. Was Kai Winn working for someone more nefarious than her family? Who else had been paying her for favors besides the Cardassians?

Or was her family more nefarious than they had realized? A full inventory of all the objects that he decided might be worth investigating was in order. A full monetary accounting so that Kaj Bashir, as he was to be called now, could have a clear and clean slate to sell everything else for charity without the stain of stolen property on his conscience. If anything was stolen, it would have to be returned. And the fact that Vedic Shern had been concerned about the house proved a sign that something wasn’t right with this place.

Vedic Shern had gotten out of any punishment by denouncing her sister and taking a Vow of Isolation, living alone in a room in a small convent outside of the city. No evidence pointed to her involvement at Pok Tal so she was in the clear, though stripped of her place in the Assembly. Now a lot of the Assembly had been pulled from their positions simply for being Kai Winn’s appointments. Who Bashir would pick if he became Kai was up in the air, as he didn’t know any Vedics well enough to do so. Perhaps only those that had been his patients on the station over the years.

Odo was about ready to leave the bedroom and go downstairs again when Dax made a sudden angry comment.

“This lining is Marvan fur, they’re endangered!” she was rightly angry.

Odo took the shoulder wrap to study carefully. Highly illegal.

“Marvan fur is sold regularly on the black market. My goodness...this is certainly not something that you would be permitted to sell, Doctor,” he looked at Bashir.

“Kaj, if you please,” said Ranjen...Frim was the man’s name if he recalled correctly.

“I apologize, force of habit…”

But Bashir smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’m not all that concerned which title you use. Haj means Healer of the Kai in Bajoran, Kaj means Healer _and_ the Kai. So I’m a healer either way…”

“Well indeed, indeed,” said the other Ranjen, whose name he did remember as Jak. “You still doubt your place, and hold onto your old names.”

“But that is a puzzle time will solve,” Frim interrupted pointedly. “I believe Lieutenant Dax has found something else?”

“This,” she had pulled out another robe. “There’s some paper in the lining, this looks like it's been resewn…”

“We’ll need scissors,” Odo took it in his hands. “A sonic cutter would ruin the fabric, and reduce its value. I think it can be sold for a nice profit…”

The Kaj made a soft sad sound, and then went over to his own pack and pulled out...a pair of scissors.

“Garak always made me carry a full tailoring kit with me, when I travelled anywhere. In case you have to patch your clothes or...” he trailed off, his face looking like he was borderline ready to fall apart. “I need to leave for a moment…”

Songbird, who had been lying on the bed looking through one of Kai Winn's personal journals, got up to follow him out, followed by Ranjen Jak. Frim stayed with them for the time being, he was looking for any spiritual objects that the Kai may have taken from the Kai’s office to study elsewhere, but so far nothing had been out of place. Odo pointedly picked up the journal to add to the growing pile of potential evidence. He would read through it for more information, and possible leads to other co-conspirators, later. Right now he needed the space. He laid out the fanciful robe on the bed, carefully snipped the resewn edge, and carefully pulled out the paper.

It was certainly an interesting document. He turned it over and over.

“Private letter from Shern Tiang. Her mother.”

“She must have written something pretty awful for it to be sewn into her clothing,” Dax accepted the letter to read it herself. “Goodness me...its a love letter from Shern Tiang to a man named Hoval.”

“I remember him, he was a Cardassian Legate posted here during the Occupation. Is it dated?”

“Yes…” Dax offered him the letter back so he could look for himself.

Odo examined the date carefully, and did the math in his head, remembering back to all the evidence he had gathered about Kai Winn and her family for the trial. Changeling minds forgot nothing. “I’d say by this that Kai Winn’s mother was having an affair with the Legate, and Winn discovered this. She must have been keeping this letter, probably as blackmail.”

“Is this what Vedic Shern is after?” said Dax.

“Well it’s either that, or this,” said Chief O’Brien, standing up with a piece of the floor in his hand. “Have a look at that will you?”

Odo looked down into the hole O’Brien had made, and pulled out two square bars of gold from the hoard stowed here in the floorboards. For a moment he considered, then he tapped them together, as Quark was fond of doing, and the crystal clear sound of the latinum suspended in gold rang through the room like silver bells.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this appears to be all the evidence we need that Kai Winn was being sent bribe money,” he looked into the hole to start counting the bars, which were unmarked, about the size of Ferengi latinum bar currency. “But from who? Her mother, to silence her about the affair? Or Legate Horval himself?”

“Or someone worse…” Dax looked over at the pile of evidence from just this room. “She was getting a lot of money on the side, Odo, this was not just a small side hustle. Not by a long shot.”

“Shall I make a wild throw, and suggest, perhaps, the Orion Syndicate?” Shavi said, and Odo smiled, because he had forgotten she was there. Selelvians were good at hiding their presence with their telepathic gifts. “You’ve had drug problems on this planet since you arrived, I am proof positive that the Orions wanted to try their hand at dealing hypocain here, but they would have already had a market for the less potent drugs for it to become such a problem so quickly…”

“You are right, and we never found who the mules were...perhaps some members of the community dressed in the spiritual garment of Vedics...no Ranjen I don’t mean that they would have been real monks,” Ranjen Frim looked heartsick at the very idea that Vedics would be involved as drug runners. “Although I’m sure Kai Winn could have been quite successful in appointing Vedics who shared her extracurricular interests. But Vedics move back and forth from the station on a regular basis. People could disguise themselves as them and carry drugs and not get much notice because Vedics, on Bajor, are treated with such respect.”

“With all these new charges against Kai Winn...if we’re right...it would up her life sentence to a death sentence,” Dax said, looking serious. “If the genocide charges from Pok Tal aren’t brought forward...”

“That investigation is still ongoing...meanwhile, I’m more concerned about the suspects still at large and maybe not yet identified. I have some Vedics I’ll have to question and potentially stolen objects to investigate…”

Maybe Doctor Bashir wouldn’t be appointing Deep Space Nine’s Vedics one day after all. All of them were now suspects.

\----------

Julian lay quietly on his side, looking down gently at the sleeping Songbird, counting his softly exhaled breaths in his mind, cherishing every one of them, cherishing every second taken with his still living breathing husband. He had been calling him his remaining husband. Now he realized it wasn’t a fair description, Songbird had been there first, he was not an afterthought to Garak, and had never been.

_Oh my love, if you could see him now…planning your concert, trying on all the Kai’s old robes and annoying the Ranjens..._

Julian Bashir had spent almost the entire night trying to sleep, so he could dream again, and dream of Garak again, and maybe ask Garak if he wanted a concert. But he couldn’t sleep at all. It all now just seemed so ridiculous and cruel to him.

_I am either imagining Garak’s ghost as a coping mechanism, or else he’s real. If I can commune with him outside of my dreams, he must be real. But Opaka is real too then, isn’t she? Or am I imagining her too? I am either having a spiritual crisis or losing my mind…_

Julian quietly slipped himself out of the bed, knowing that Augments were pretty aware of their surroundings. Songbird could be sleeping like a purring cat one moment, and like a cat, the next minute fully ready to pounce.

Case in point, one soft eyelid slowly fluttered open.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m just having a nightcap…”

Songbird smiled, then closed his eyes again and curled up more pointedly to show he was fine with just staying in bed.

Julian stalked his way from the bedroom out to the main foyer and sighed.

It was so empty now. Odo had decided to go full throttle and confiscate everything Kai Winn had bought for herself to have investigated. Ranjen Frim and Jak had been doing the jobs of all the servants who had quit, which had been over twenty people, and had not complained once. Somehow they had found a replacement bed for them to sleep in, a proper table to eat on in the kitchen, and basic supplies, those things that perhaps Kai Opaka had left behind that had been stored in the basement. It was the basement that Julian was headed for now.

Down in the basement, the two Ranjens had set up a quiet place to meditate, with mats on the dusty floor, and he picked one up pointedly to carry with him. The other floors had been too busy with people coming and going, security officers and Odo’s crew, and Julian thanked the Prophets, ironically, that Defiant was still in orbit of Bajor, as having Dax here had been a healing balm for his frazzled nerves. She had taken everyone to task for rushing Julian about the way they had. O’Brien had set up a fully charged power battery in the basement until the house could be reconnected to the grid, and down here he had set up a proper Federation standard replicator for their coffee and tea needs.

Julian replicated a synthehol instead, and laid the mat down next to the humming generator, looking across the empty space and leaning his head back against the bare stone wall, enjoying the cool but dusty silence of the basement.

He threw back the non-alcoholic beverage, knowing that the Ranjens would thoroughly incinerate him if he drank spirits before a religious pilgrimage to the Fire Caves. A presumptive Kai, or a Kaj, almost never drank spirits, only at festivals and weddings, and the same was true of Vedics, Ranjens and Prylors.

Bajoran traditions matched many of the ancient traditions of Earth, the sins and virtues were the same. Charity, hard work and study were virtues. Addiction, selfishness and greed were sins. All the same could be said of prayer, and blasphemy. Julian had been wrangling his mind over the Bajoran faith.

_A lot of what ancient Earth religions taught is taught here. How to turn this around for the Faction, and create a system of law without the basis in spirituality? I am a hypocrite for trying, here I am, wondering if I am seeing ghosts._

Almost as if on queue, a familiar voice entered his mind.

_Mr dear Doctor, you are beating yourself up over such a simple thing. If you will examine the evidence carefully, you will know exactly what is happening, and you will act accordingly._

Julian laughed, and the pain of guilt was real. He hadn’t appreciated Garak’s attraction for him, had gone off and married another man, and then dragged him into the trio and then, Garak had died protecting him. And now the ghost of Garak was in his head.

 _Nobody ever dragged me into doing anything,_ the voice of Garak protested. _You have to stop blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong. This self-defeatist attitude will not help you in any way._

Julian sighed, and sat up, looking around with annoyance at the empty room. A genetically engineered brain was very capable of creating many very real and very interesting internal rooms in which to organize their thoughts. He had created for himself an entire mental library, filled with shelves and vast volumes of his medical puzzles and personal memories, all categorized into a proper library system. Within a fraction of a moment he could simply think about his library and it would be all there for him to mentally walk through, like a holodeck. And he could certainly create his own people to inhabit this fantasy world where he kept his perfect collection of memories stored away. But there was only one way to test this...

_Who are you?_

_Oh well, my dear doctor, I have never been anything more than a plain and simple tailor._

_Yes but what else are you? Tell me the truth!_

_Excuse me? Doctor, I think you are splitting hairs again…let's get back to the task at hand. The truth is I am rather flattered by the idea of Songbird’s concert. There’s no need to worry at all._

And there it was. Cardassians never used expressions such as splitting hairs. He had used that expression because it was Julian projecting what Garak might say in response to him. Garak probably would love to be acknowledged in his death as a simple tailor, in the public in front of large audiences. But Julian had been imagining the man tutoring him in the art of revenge, when really it had all come from Earth fiction he had read, Felix Knightly’s spy programs, and his own imagination. Julian knew full well this wasn’t real, a real ghost would have a lot more to say, and wouldn’t be speaking English or using English idioms. Or saying exactly what Julian wanted to hear.

It wasn’t really Garak, and it was killing him. He really had wanted it to be his ghost. He had orchestrated all this revenge on Garak’s behalf, and had convinced himself the ghost was giving him guidance, telling him what to do. Now he wasn’t certain at all that it hadn’t just all been a hallucination.

Garak wasn’t coming back from the dead. The silence in absence of a ghost in his mind responding was the final sign of it.

The rush of tears was sudden, but not unexpected, and he let them fall as they would, taking another drink.

_‘Nothing is ever certain, but what is always certain is yourself. When you know yourself, you will have certainty…’_

And there she was, ready to fill in the place where Garak had vacated, and Bashir felt the need to test this person as well, to see if she was real.

_Who are you?_

_‘The answer to that question, Kaj, is the question you yourself are unwilling to answer. Many times past a Bajoran has contemplated this question as they have taken the Path of Fear, and only by taking the Path will you find the answers you seek.’_

Oh she was real all right. Julian could not have invented that if he tried. The vision of Opaka was real, and it hurt, because he would have traded a thousand Opakas for Garak. He knew she wouldn’t be offended by that thought, but he tried to keep it to himself nonetheless.

_‘Nothing is ever healed by hiding, healing begins when we admit our need for it.’_

_I want my husband back._

_‘You can only go forward, Kaj. The Prophets tell us that what is in the past, remains in the past. We must learn to accept what cannot be changed, and trust in the will of the Prophets.’_

“I want my husband back,” he said, out loud, and nobody answered, and he looked down at the empty glass in his hand.

He could spend the day tomorrow helping Odo with his investigation, helping Songbird and Shavi plan the concert, spend time with Dax talking about station news and Federation business, and have a pint or two, non-alcoholic, with Chief O’Brien.

Or he could take the Path of Fear and become the Kaj and seriously devote himself to a life of ministry.

 _I wonder if Garak would have bought all this,_ Julian laughed a little through his tears, rubbing his eyes on his nightshirt sleeve. _I wonder if he would have gotten angry at me for taking this all so seriously._

He couldn’t ask Garak, he was dead. But there was someone he could ask.

“Julian?” a soft voice on the stair. “This night cap has lasted a very long time. Are you all right?”

Julian got up to go deposit his glass in the replicator and then reached out to Songbird to take him in his arms. Songbird had stopped using pet names for him, perhaps in respect for the serious pain he was in. Being called Jujube right now, or Jewel, would not have flown well. Songbird hadn’t responded much to Piper. Garak was right, Songbird was a fine name. 

Perhaps the pet names had always been a cover for something else; their uncertainty about the future of their marriage. Now, they had finally accepted each other in their lives, and had found a harmony that hadn’t existed before. It was raw that it had taken this tragedy to find that balance.

“No, but I think I’m going to be,” he held his husband tight, and kissed his head with genuine affection that he knew would last for a very long time. “I think I’m ready to face the real world again.”

\-------

Songbird found himself in a flurry of activity as he went with Shavi to the local market to shop for a new wardrobe for his concert. His Unity concert attire was not acceptable for a concert that would be attended by children, and he had invited other musicians on Bajor to also come and sing and perform, to give the concert a bit of variety, since he wasn’t going to be singing many songs. His Garak song, and possibly the duet that Garak had written with him for Julian. He wasn’t sure Julian would be happy with that, so he needed to find a way to sing it without causing pain. He would need to find a Cardassian to sing with as well.

_Or just let it go...Jake is still stressed about Ziyal, and the Federation is working with the Dominion to try and find her. Dukat is still not back on Cardassia. Where did the bugger go?_

Even the Dominion was confused. Either that or they were bluffing, but it was unlikely. They wouldn’t have wanted the Cardassian leader going off to engage in personal vendettas and reignite tensions with Bajor. Not if they wanted to reoccupy Bajor for themselves.

“You are very quiet Birdling, are you all right?”

“I’m just worried about how much this will cost. I want to sort of invoke the feeling of Garak, and he was a tailor. Which means tailored clothes. And very nice clothes, for all their simplicity. Nice fabrics and all that. He had good taste.”

“You could always wear _his_ clothes, if they aren’t too large for you.”

“I did wear his clothes, and they _are_ too large. And I’m not altering his old clothes, I don’t know...if...what if Julian wants them or something?”

“Birdling, Julian Bashir has been in such denial, he doesn’t even know he’s inherited everything of Garak’s yet. But you are probably right. We should buy all new for the concert, and try to have more respect for the dead…”

“Yes, respect, _please_. And respect costs money so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He was funding the concert himself for now, and the Vedic Assembly promised an anonymous donation from the Kaj could go to the orphans at a later date once the investigation of the Kai’s belongings had completed and it was safe to sell them. They were hesitant to allow an auction yet until all the legal trifles had been untangled, quietly on the sides and not out in the public. But as Julian was off today visiting the Fire Caves, not much was going to be done on that front. Julian wanted to talk to Quark about the Auction himself, and set some very strict requirements to make things honest and fair to potential buyers.

_Julian is off in those caves, I don’t know if he was ready. He did seem a lot less down this morning, invigorated, confident. Maybe he’s better to go there when he’s confident._

Shavi suddenly dragged him by his arm off the main market row into a tiny shop off the side of the street, where an older Bajoran woman was hanging some new suits for display. She had to have spotted it with a large amount of luck, for the entry was bordered by some very large rolls of fabric and rugs that made the doorway look almost invisible.

And Songbird found himself staring, as the garments in this place could have shared perfect geography with the fashion on display in Garak’s shop.

“He was a trendsetter,” Shavi said, having used her telepathic knack to catch his thought. “His style is all over Bajor. What do you think?”

“Jackpot,” Songbird smiled, then approached the confused seamstress with his biggest, winning, ‘for charity’ smile.

Hopefully they could haggle her down to a price that his budget could afford.

\-------

Prylar Mora sat at the edge of the precipice, watching with curiosity as the human Kaj and his retinue quietly made their way up the mountain path approach towards the Fire Caves. Along the path, much like Mora, Prylers, Ranjens and Vedics were perched, having been perched there most of the morning after having been informed the Kaj would arrive.

_Like a flock of carrion birds, and I’m just as bad as they are. Everyone is curious about the Kaj...and who wouldn’t be? If the whole world knew he was coming the mountain would be covered in Vedics, not just from my order._

The Order of the Fire was not a popular order by any means, except to tourists who visited the Fire Caves and thus the temple as well. But the Order had an important task; maintaining the prison of the Pah-Wraiths and safe-guarding the civilian visitors from potential threat. They were the only Order permitted to know the safe way to navigate the Path of Fear, but as such, they were forbidden from taking the Trials of the Kai. A fact that caused bitterness for many within their Order. An important part of Bajor’s spiritual world was barred to them. But of course, the mysteries of the caves were barred to everyone else.

For example, not many people knew that you couldn’t be harmed physically by the Pah-Wraiths just by touching them, though possession was not unheard of, especially for unwary travellers that strayed off the safe routes. The Pah-Wraiths mostly caused psychological fear in those that saw and interacted with them for even short periods of time. The path for ordinary visitors, therefore, was different from the Path of Fear that presumptive Kais took, and was mostly a tour of the carved standing stones and doorways that protected against the escape of the imprisoned inhabitants. The caves were covered in the many many patterns and symbols that were precious to Bajorans, and thus, anathema to the Pah-Wraiths.

For quite literally, the Pah-Wraiths were entombed in the stone, much like the Prophets dwelled within the orbs. One could always tell a Pah-Wraith was near, the dark surface of the stone would begin to heat up to fiery red and orange colors and yet stayed cool to the touch. The name of the Caves itself was a misnomer. The Fire Caves were very very cold.

Touching the cave walls was prohibited to visitors anyway. But not to the presumptive Kai, who needed to communicate with the Pah-Wraiths, and defeat them, in order to find the safe path back out again. A confused and unsuccessful Trial applicant for the position of Kai would become lost for days, and had to be found by a search party.

Only those who found their way out without aid were considered successful. Usually the way out was the prize the Pah-Wraiths offered for meeting their challenges. But more successfully, keeping them out of your mind entirely and retaining clarity, so you could remember where you had been and make your way out by a logical process of elimination. A few Kais had done this, but most had defeated the Pah-Wraiths through the mental challenges.

A Kaj was supposed to _already_ have taken the path. They are meant to already _know_. If so, then the path would be taken very quickly. But if not…

He didn’t want to be in the human’s shoes right now. Almost all Mora’s Order was against this man’s appointment, and none of them were going to be in any rush to aid him should he fail. Finding a lost candidate took place on the third day of their absence, not any sooner. But it was not unheard of for a failing candidate to be lost for weeks. Sometimes they walked themselves over a ledge in the darkness and died, and thus the danger to ordinary people. Getting lost here was more dangerous than the Pah-Wraiths themselves.

Bashir was approaching his position, and he watched the man’s face as he came closer, looking for any sign he was worthy or unworthy, looking for any sign of fear. But Bashir was looking down at the road contemplatively as he walked, and occasionally smiling at something one of his two Ranjens said to him. Not offering any comments of his own, and suddenly laughing. They were, in fact, telling him the history of the caves, and Mora was just crawling with curiosity over what had made the Kaj suddenly burst out and laugh.

_Maybe he has learned that Kai Winns name has been carved into the stones here. Does he know that his name will join hers if his Trial is successful?_

As all others who had successfully walked the Path of Fear, Kai Winn’s name became a charm against the escape of the Pah-Wraiths. A beloved Kai could be a powerful talisman. The late Vedic Bereil’s name was here too, as he had also successfully completed the Path and made his way up to the last Trial of the Kai. Many Vedics who didn’t become the Kai were here as well.

Mora watched mournfully as Bashir said grateful thanks to the two Ranjens, pulled almost annoyingly at the simple chain on his ear, and turned finally to enter the Path of Fear.

\-------

_‘Your theories won’t ever go anywhere Doctor, you really are the failure you thought yourself to be…’_

Julian almost had to laugh at this, moving his hand carefully along the smooth red surface of the stone, before moving on, feeling as if he had just been distracted by some small twittering bird.

The so called challenges of the Pah-Wraiths were, in his honest opinion, too easy to defeat. The Pah-Wraiths were crude, blunt and, make no mistake, vicious in their hatred and anger towards others. The very first thing they did was throw up a vision of Garak, offering to show him helpfully the way through the caves,

_Why it's really quite easy, my dear doctor, the Cardassians charted these caves quite carefully during the Occupation you know…_

Julian knew. He knew that this was not really Garak. Thanks to Opaka’s lesson that night, he could now tell, by feel, by the edge of the voice in his mind, whether the voice was really a telepathic contact from another being, or an illusion planted in his brain to confuse him.

_‘Nobody wants you to succeed...Doctor. Nobody will come to save you if you fail, Kaj a Kai…’_

Kaj a Kai was the wrong term now, he knew that. It was the term used by those who were highly spiritual to describe someone they thought _might_ be the Kaj. The Wraiths weren’t certain anymore than anyone else was. Having had thousands of people pass these walls, they could no longer tell one former Kai from another.

But he _was_ the Kaj. He already had decided he was. And this Pah-Wraith was so familiar, really, he knew his type. He was a moaning complaining creature of misery that only dealt with despair.

As he moved along the walls, new Pah-Wraiths would appear upon the stone surface, hot and red, challenging him, usually when he was contemplating two, or multiple paths, and many of these Pah-Wraiths did seem familiar, as if he had met with them before.

 _Time isn’t always linear though...I am meeting them now, my future self already knows them. And maybe my past self_ was _a Bajoran…I’m certainly starting to think like a Bajoran now._

A new Pah-Wraith grasped this thread and came up under his hand. This powerful being was the mocking, jeering kind, and flashed him with an almost visible jester’s smile.

_‘A Bajoran wouldn’t have cried over a Cardassian...wouldn’t have let others push him around…’_

_Wrong again,_ Julian pushed the Pah-Wraith out of his mind and followed its retreat. This creature would either lead him down the right path or the wrong path. It felt like he was going the right way. This path did feel familiar.

_But then again, why would the Pah-Wraiths want a visitor to succeed on the Path of Fear? Why would they help them make their way safely out of the caves?_

_‘Because,’_ the mind was dark and ancient, and filled with a deep and devastatingly personal hatred towards him that momentarily took him off guard. _‘The less powerful a Kai is, the less powerful their name becomes in time, and the more Kais we help on the road, the more the protections against us weaken. Kai Winn’s name is a weak spot now, her name is very much hated. Other names become forgotten for they are too ordinary to be remembered. This will go well for us. Very well for us. We help those Kais who cannot get out on their own, but whose name might serve us one day.’_

_So the False Kais are the ones you help find their way through? And the true Kais are the ones who can truly find their way, without your help at all…Am I not a true Kai then? Are you leading me on the right path or am I finding it myself and you are just coming along for the hell of it?_

_‘Clever, Augment...but how clever? How clever did they actually make you?’_

Julian suddenly felt his entire world upending, as a small boy was now in front of him. An illusion, this small child, with light brown skin, and curly hair, and too big ears, and not the boy that anyone would remember Julian Bashir as having been. He was standing there, uncertainly, with one hand around his teddy bear, and the other, in the hand of a woman with feathers.

Shock and panic rushed through him. Suddenly he was no longer in the caves, but now a small boy on the table, in the operating theatre, surrounded by nurses and the Doctor, what was her name? Korval? Korval, the Aedigeon Prime doctor who performed his procedures. She sedated him.

Flashes of memory. Of clinging to his bed, waking up, crying, aching, asking for the pain to end. Nurses coming in to give him painkillers.

Another flash. A child in front of a tower of blocks, smashing it with the teddy bear. A red haired boy grabbing the bear and running with it. A dark haired boy jumping up angrily to hit the boy with red hair. And the girl, dark, and painfully familiar to him, quirking her head sideways to try and hear what the commotion was. Nurses coming in to break up the quarrel, returning his bear.

Flash. This time, he was sitting quietly in front of the blocks. This time he was stacking them carefully, concerned about the sturdiness and the beauty of the design. His teddy bear, no longer in one hand to be used as a weapon, sat quietly beside him almost forgotten.

And a man, gray haired, human, with blue sharp eyes, suddenly sat down in front of him.

“Well then, you must be our little Fawkes, my goodness…”

“My name is _Jules_.”

“Oh so it is! Well Jules, here are some books for you, you might enjoy them…”

The man in gray had literally dropped a stack of seven paperback books in front of him on the table. He read the title, without any confusion.

“Harry Potter and the Phi-lo-so-pher’s stone? Philosopher’s stone.”

“That’s right. You are learning fast my little bird, very fast…”

Silence. Julian looked down at the word stone, staring at it momentarily, brilliantly remembering in that moment the stone walls of the cave he had just been in. This hospital, this play room, these people, were in the past, and the past was long gone, the present, the now, was the fire caves.

He woke from the illusion shaking and sweating, and gasped as he realized his foot was just mere inches from the edge of a very dark empty abyss. Many presumptive Kais who failed their tests were never found.

_Oh god, so close, so very close. My past me, if I was indeed once a Bajoran, was not a genetically engineered man. They found my weakness. So close. My own DNA is what I fear the most...somehow...they knew...and now that I know...now that I know...I can keep going._

Even the Pah-Wraiths in the stones under his feet had nothing to say about that. He gently, and carefully avoided touching any more red spots on the walls. He knew the way out, he could feel it, and he didn’t need their help anymore.

Despite this, he could feel the anger and absolute fury of them as they realized that he had successfully escaped the Path of Fear without any help at all. No doubt the charm the Order of Fire made of his name would be a strong one.

Sunlight. He threw himself into the arms of the nearest person, a Prylor, who had stood up in startelement to rush over as soon as he appeared.

“Oh, forgive me Kaj, I doubted,” he said.

Julian would not be able to recall later what he had told the man, what he had said that had made him smile in embarrassment. He did remember being surrounded by Vedics, by Ranjen Frim and Jak, and being wrapped in the blanket in the middle of a hot Bajoran summer because the Fire Caves, despite their hot reputation and their hot headed inhabitants, were freezing cold.

And, they told him, he had been there on the Path of Fear for several hours. He could only remember one or two hours before his flashback.

Maybe, maybe the cold wasn’t coming from without, maybe...maybe it was a cold born entirely from within.


	23. Drawing The Battle Lines

The Temple of the Order of Fire was warm, in a more emotional than physical way, with soft pillows on the floor for worshippers to kneel on and the Vedics and monks of this order all urging him over and over to repeat for them the journey he had taken. These monks studied and tended to the Fire Caves personally so he could quite understand their enthusiasm. Food was offered to him, warm fresh bread and hearty thick soup, and they wrapped him in warm monk robes, giving him the closest seat to the cheerfully crackling fireplace. These mountains could get very cold at this elevation, in contrast to the very hot valley and landscape in the south. The heat wave was starting to abate there as well, and it wouldn’t be long before Bajor’s rainy season began.

_And end this long long drought, and hopefully the food shortages._

Bajor really was dependent on its native crops, unwilling to plant more heat resistant varieties from other worlds, unwilling to drastically change their traditional farming methods.

_And who can blame them? The bread is amazing..._

Tomorrow there would be a party in the local town to celebrate his successful journey, and there would probably be small celebrations around the planet amongst those who were in support of him. But per tradition those who successfully navigated the Path of Fear spent the night in the Temple, giving thanks to the Prophets and studying the prophecies concerning the Fire Caves, copies of which were kept here all year round for anyone to go through.

Knowing that he wasn’t even slightly bit close to remembering any sort of past life, despite how familiar the Pah-Wraiths had seemed, Julian decided to accept the offer to study the mysteries in these texts for himself tonight.

So it was that he was still wrapped up in a Bajoran monk’s robe, mostly for warmth, and bent over a scroll in serious study, when Admiral Ross and Captain Sisko finally found him.

Combined with the earring Ranjen Jak and Frim had presented him in a small box, as a gift, he must have looked very much like a Bajoran.

“I really do hate to bother you,” said Ross, “You look very into whatever you’re reading.”

Julian jerked his head up in startlement. He hadn’t noticed the two of them enter.

“Odo’s investigation?”

“No. That is still ongoing…” Ross looked over at Sisko, who had been smiling in that very Sisko way of being amused at seeing Julian so studious.

“Some of the items he’s scanned have turned out to be stolen though. Kai Winn will probably deny that she knew they were stolen…”

“Probably,” Julian sat back, using the placeholder of a decoratively carved paper weight to mark his place carefully on the scroll, and turned around to face them. “So if you aren’t here for an investigation…?”

“Well first, we wanted to congratulate you for succeeding in the first step of these Trials the monks said you were undergoing. The monks said you experienced a battle of the mind?”

“It was worse than you might think, the Pah-Wraiths are very real incorporeal telepathic entities who will mentally turn your insides out if you let them. I was so very close to jumping off a very _real_ cliff from becoming lost in one of their illusions...I can’t tell you how close…” Julian shivered, and Sisko’s eyes seemed to widen a little in alarm. “Also, thank you...I have a long way to go before I complete these Trials. I may never succeed in the next task. I literally have to perform a new miracle, now that I’ve encountered the Pah-Wraiths, to show I’m still connected to the Prophets…” He felt his stomach twist a little. “But the parameters are fairly tight. Raising the dead is one. Or blessing a seed on a bare rock and causing it to grow, which is the most scientifically feasible since some species of plants can grow on rock. And...there are not many possibilities here...Healing an illness no other doctor can heal is another one…”

“And on that note, I have just the thing for you,” Ross put the PADD in front of him that he had brought with him. “We’ve been keeping it quiet, but the members of the Federation counsel have all taken sick with a strange new virus that is dangerously targeted towards telepathic, or potentially telepathic races. Humans amongst them. And President Jaresh-Inyo, who is currently bedridden, may not fully recover. The Vice President is now running everything.”

“What?” Julian picked up the PADD. “When did this happen?”

“September. They’ve been saying he was on shore leave…but more and more cases are cropping up each day and we can’t keep it hidden much longer. The Ambassador from Betazoid just recently updated her will, in case she doesn’t make it. Her illness has been the worst. The more telepathic the person is, the worst the infection.”

“Oh my God…” Julian looked at the PADD in alarm, as if it were a snake that would jump up and bite him.

“We’re having to keep all telepathic individuals from going near Paris, or even the planet, until we know how far this virus has already spread. The reports have been mostly scattered. But if it gets off Earth somehow...” Ross paused, severely. “Starfleet Medical has been working on this for over a week now Julian. But it's a genetically engineered virus, and we can’t trust any Doctor who was on Earth at the time, the virus has a very very short shelf life and transmission time period. It had to have been developed on Earth…”

“Oh my God…” he repeated it, and shook his head, just shaking his head. “I...this is awful.”

“Then you’ll join the rest of our team looking for a cure?” Ross asked, smiling slightly in that way that Admirals did when they knew they had found the right person for the job. “You aren’t Starfleet, but you wouldn’t have been on Earth and it has stumped most of the other medical experts in Starfleet medical we’ve tapped so far. I figure the more researchers the merrier. And you can tap anyone on Bajor you want for help, I’ll approve it.”

“I’ll get to work on this right away…” he said...then remembered himself. “Well as soon as I return to the station, I’m sorry,” he winced. “I have to get a few things finished here before I go. Mostly Garak’s estate. And Songbird’s concert…” 

“Take your time Julian, the virus hasn’t killed anyone just yet,” he looked severely serious. “But it’s only a matter of time…”

“But...I’m thinking,” Julian looked at the PADD, voice turning more serious, “You don’t think the perpetrators might have been…?”

“One of the Factions?” Ross said. “Maybe. Or maybe the Dominion, if they have someone on Earth…It’ll be my job to figure that out.”

“Well then,” Julian sat back, and looked up and closed his eyes. “Since I’m supposed to be here studying and praying, I will have to pray for you tonight for good luck.”

“Good luck for us both, Doctor.”

\-------------

She found herself quietly, silently moving along the dark green and red halls, her heart trembling, her chest heavy, but her face a neutral smile. The guards she passed gave her suspicious looks, but said nothing, not willing to face potential wrath from her father later.

This was a Klingon Bird-Of-Prey, one of many her father had stolen over the years for Cardassia, and which was currently masquerading as a part of General Martok’s fleet cloaked and in orbit around the station. It was giving off Klingon life signs during the ‘de-cloak’ inspection routines the Federation was requiring for all the ships in the area, and they were using this routine to try and count the ships and keep track of them.

She knew they were probably looking for her. But if she was going to get back to Jake safely, she had to play along for now. Her father had promised she could keep the child if she did. 

_Instead of having me abandon the baby in an orphanage to save face..._

The bridge was only lightly staffed, and Damar was on duty, while her father was still on Bajor. They would be leaving as soon as he returned.

“Damar,” she said, putting a sadness into her voice. “I am going crazy in my room. My father said I would be well cared for if I didn’t fight him. But there’s nothing for me to do…”

He looked her over with extreme distrust. He was the one of her father’s men who trusted her the least. But she put a hand on her belly pointedly, knowing he disapproved even more so her relationship with a human.

She knew he had previously been looking at her as a possible companion for his own son, Lans, who was only a few years younger than her. Cardassians grew up very quickly, faster than Klingons. Lans would be taller by her and ready to start military training by the time she gave birth.

“They don’t have holodecks on Klingon ships,” he admitted reluctantly. “I suppose I could set up a terminal in your room for games and entertainment…”

“Please? I would be grateful,” she gave him her sweetest smile.

He actually smiled back.

“I’ll see to it immediately.”

_Now lets hope I remember what Garak was trying to teach me. Heaven knows I’m no computer programmer…_

But Garak had always insisted that his successor would have to be someone nobody would suspect, someone he could share all his secrets with that nobody would try to interrogate about it. The daughter of Gul Dukat, was the most obviously perfect choice in the world.

_If I can contact Cardassia, talk to Rugal, and let him know what happened...maybe he’ll know what to do. Maybe he’ll be able to help me._

Because they were leaving soon, and unless some miracle intervention from the Prophets was coming, she would be living there on Cardassia until who knows when.

_But not if I find a way to escape on my own. I’ll be home in no time Jake...please don’t give up!_

\-------------

_Tempest - The time has now come for me to see if you are worthy to lead this colony. Come play a game with me, in the wilderness, I will send you coordinates, and discuss the details of our game when you arrive. We will see if you can beat me…bring one with you amongst the children, no defects, no normals, and no Federation weapons! - Moon_

The coordinates followed, and Captain Shelby, who had been painstakingly learning how to use the Spiral coded communications terminal saw Felix Knightly turn almost sheet white as he had been reading it.

“I’m Tempest,” he said to them. “Former leader of the Thread.”

“The Thread goes through a lot of leaders…” Jack said with a snort.

The children were sleeping right now, and the adults were all crowded together with Shelby and the adult Augments at the end of the room, trying to stay quiet so as not to wake them. Shelby had a strange feeling that most of them were probably only pretending to sleep. All the supplies and replicators that could have been harvested from the downed saucer had been lugged here by her officers and the parents, and the result was a very well protected and supplied compound. But she had been in firm agreement with the Augments; staying in the saucer would have made them an easy target. The camp at least was shielded from invasion from the ground. Now her men were keeping watch at the two entry gates, and out in the main camp, for any sign of trouble...or targs.

“We think the reason they found me out is because someone is on the thread working for Starfleet Intelligence to identify and hunt down Augments,” Knightly said.

“Bunch of rude nosy people,” said Rapunzel with a wrinkled nose.

“Never mind that,” said Avery. “What is this game she wants to play with you?”

Knightly seemed to consider for a moment, and shared a look, just a brief look, with Jack.

“I’m guessing Hide and Seek, or some sort of survival game of that kind. Winner takes all. She’ll send her two men to play with us, and we’ll have to either eliminate them first or be eliminated.”

“Oh dear god...you mean humans hunting humans?” one of the parents said in horror. “That’s barbaric!”

“I told you Moon was a psychobitch,” Knightly laughed. “Rebirth Faction believes we should return back to the old days of Augment rule…and they aren’t the only Faction who does. It's a point of contention between us...”

Shelby realized the man was looking over at the crowded barracks, considering the children sadly.

“You are not taking a child with you!” Shelby said, angrily. “I understand dealing with this woman is necessary to get her to leave the planet, but blood sport with a child is going a bit too far!

“I was already going to take Remina, and you can’t keep her, sixteen is old enough for her to decide for herself,” he looked over at her, and she was already hefting the Klingon disruptor pointedly. She was better at using it than he was. “I was just thinking about what will happen to the children if I fail. _She_ ,” he pointed up, indicating that he meant Moon. “Will probably kill the parents, and force all these children to undergo brainwashing designed to make them loyal followers of Rebirth.”

“If that happened we would be looking at a new Eugenics War situation,” Shelby moaned, covering her face.

“‘Would be’ looking at? Do you think that Augments have not been doing the same thing they did before to gain power? What do you think is happening right now with the Factions? This is exactly how Khan fell from grace, he couldn’t re-unite the world’s ’factions’ once they became hungry for power. Worse,” he looked back towards the children. “The lure of Starfleet is such a siren song, and requirements for joining are so high...”

“What does that have to do with this?” Shelby was actually curious.

“Starfleet is hard to join in order to keep power in the hands of the original founding members, otherwise there would be more representation on Starships,” he put his hands on his hip, and glared when Jack rolled his eyes. “Oh you think I’m paranoid?”

“I think you are very very paranoid...and probably right,” Jack seemed to backtrack. “Carry on sir!”

Knightly rolled his eyes himself, and turned back to Shelby.

“There’s a reason why the largest number of Starfleet officers on a ship are Vulcans or Humans. Vulcan standards were used when the Academy was first founded, and humanity controls planet Earth and much of the local space, so they get most of the opportunities to actually enter Starfleet. You don’t see very many crews these days of mostly Betazoids in Starfleet. But Humans, Vulcans, and Andorians? Yes. And Tellarites mostly on the cargo routes. And humans and Vulcans outnumber other races in the crews that are mixed. So if you think Augments haven’t been taking advantage of this to infiltrate Starfleet up to the highest levels to try and get a handle on this...well these kids here are just the next generation of potential cadets.”

He pointed, and Shelby noticed a few of the children were no longer pretending to be sleeping, they were watching almost...too keenly.

“Hey pal, you’re talking about our children here, they’re good kids, not like that at all…”

Knightly raised an eyebrow at the man, and the Jack Pack actually laughed. Knightly, however, did not.

“Which facility did you take your child to? Maxima? Adigeon? Cambrinda? I was genetically engineered by my parents on Cambrinda,” Knightly smirked when a few parents gasped in recognition. “Did you think I was a lab grown Augment like Khan and his people? No, I started as a colonist, like all your children did. You hate me so much, but your kids are exactly the same as I was when I was a child! I had pro-Starfleet parents, just like all of you, who were so very disappointed I became a holo-writer instead…”

Shelby let him go on his tirade, mostly because he knew the man was stressed out for his coming game with Moon’s people, and severely angry for everything he was seeing. But this information was very telling. Avery had actually looked over at the children to think about what he was saying. They had been seeing the children as _children_ and not as Augment children. But wasn’t that how it should be?

_Admiral Novos doesn’t think so, clearly…_

“I know some parents sell organs to get their children done…” Knightly continued. “It's widespread now that the desperation to get into Starfleet is really really high. Jack, how many Augments are on Earth right now, do you figure, including children and cadets?”

“One hundred and forty two…” Jack didn’t seem to have to think about that.

He also seemed very very happy to see this side of Felix Knightly. This angry, passionate opinionated Knightly that was far far from the nervous writer that he appeared like on first impression

“So what does that mean?” said another parent.

“It means the Children of Khan, the faction mostly in control of Earth, is going to want your children as much as Rebirth does. So does the Brotherhood. So does even Neutrality. These children are prime target for recruitment into the Factions, and recruitment usually starts very very young. Because Augments advance intellectually faster than ordinary children. By bringing them all here in one spot, Novos has just made them a tempting target for all the Factions. Again, Jack, how many of us are there in total? Just the adults.”

Jack seemed to think harder on this one, just a little.

“Don’t forget Neutrality,” Patrick helpfully reminded him.

“Two hundred and seventy eight thousand, five hundred and sixty two.”

The number fell on them like an avalanche.

_It can’t be true...can it?_

“Enough for a nice big colony, or to man a Starship, but we don't need _that_ many people to man a starship.” Jack huffed.

“Seven is the golden rule,” Lauren said, the first words she had said since the transmission from Moon.

“Seven?” Now Shelby was skeptical.

“All the Factions man their ships by this number,” Knightly shrugged. “An Augment, who has the strength of ten men, can also do all the work of ten men. And do it faster than they would as well.”

Shelby blanked for a moment. A Starfleet skeleton crew for a basic cargo freighter was no less than four, no more than ten. Twenty was a healthy compliment for cargo.

For a starship, twenty was minimum for a standard skeleton crew, but only one person was needed to actually just fly the ship, not ideal if you were attacked by anybody, but for just delivering the ship here and there, it was possible. There was only so much that you could do with the autopilot.

“So what chance does Starfleet have against the Factions if they find a leader?”

“Four point three six eight percent,” said Jack, then looked suddenly embarrassed, as he realized she was meaning metaphorically.

“It's really a numbers game right now, a popularity contest,” Knightly said. “If we don’t keep Moon from getting control of these children, she’ll be the next Khan Noonian Singh or worse. Unless someone really noble and honest comes in and survives in battle against her, and the Children of Khan, and all the other Factions that prefer war over pacifism. But make no mistake. The Eugenics Wars part two is happening right _now_. And this time the Augments are _winning_.”

Silence filled the room. The parents were absolutely horrified. But Shelby had to admit, they really needed a heavy dose of reality about who their children really are. Genetic engineering was not just a career move on their behalf. It wasn't like sending your child to cram school before the Academy entrance exams.

“You don’t look happy about it?” Avery commented, looking a little less combative than she had been before.

Knightly looked over at the children, and a look of pure misery fell across his features.

“Should I be? Children shouldn’t be used as a pawn for other people’s ambitions. This is a new low for us, really low, if we’re going to fight over children. But, I’ll probably be dead soon, sooo….”

“I think your chances at victory are higher than you think,” Remina said softly, and she handed him an old broken Klingon Bat'leth they’d found under the flooring.

It was now sharpened and somewhat repaired. He held it in his hands reluctantly, testing its weight.

“Well I don’t have much choice do I…?” he smiled at her, and Shelby could tell, he genuinely liked the girl, and wasn’t bringing her because he meant her any harm. Let's go hunt some raptors.”

\-----------

“Oh there you are…You certainly took long enough.”

She sat up to look at him, face still full of haughty distaste.

“My apologies...It took a considerable bit of time out of my schedule to decide what I was going to do about you…”

Winn Adami seemed to consider him for a moment.

“It's your fault I’m in here! It was all your plan to use Bashir, to make him my Haj,” she said this bitterly. “You wanted a human with Federation ties to be in power on Bajor.”

“You can’t blame me if you didn’t use the pieces I gave you correctly…” he sauntered across the cell to look out the window. “You were supposed to find ways to discredit the Federation. But you put him in charge of the one thing that would give him power over you; that hospital. Bad move…”

“I didn’t have much choice. The medical community was getting too close to the truth. I could discredit him and get rid of the evidence in one fell swoop…”

“...If not for Garak, yes. You should be grateful I ended _him_.”

“It _was_ rather pleasant to watch…”

Gul Dukat smiled a little, and paced slowly around the cell. His bribery of the guards had been easy, you throw a bunch of money at anyone and they will keep their mouths shut.

“You haven’t been getting the news here in your cell, so I’ll update you, as to how much of a spectacular failure you are,” he said, considering the darkness of the night outside her window as he came over to sit on the bunk next to her. “To be blunt, you no longer have any value to me. Your mother is more useful to me than you are, and she doesn’t even live on Bajor. And thanks to that letter of yours, you didn’t make yourself the most popular of the two sisters…”

“What do you mean? You won’t betray me, my family is important.”

“True, your sister still has power and connections on Bajor. She still has the ability to move through Bajoran circles. She managed to keep from any conflict by denouncing you completely. And all that wonderful blackmail you had against your mother has been discovered by Starfleet. And as for the Kaj let me reassure you...He passed the first Trial. Very quickly apparently, faster than is common.”

“He would,” Winn Adami’s patience was very very thin now. “Are you helping me escape or not?”

“Your mother is the secret wife of a very important Legate, so killing you would be unfortunate…”

“It would be…” she smiled, sweetly.

Hopefully. She really was hoping he would help her escape. It was almost laughable.

“It's fortunate for me that it is your _sister_ , not you, that is Legate Hovel’s love child. Half-Cardassian...half-perfect…But you he doesn't care about at all, and thanks to your blackmail, neither does your mother. You only have one use left…as an informant against us. A loose end, that still needs to be neatly tied.”

She didn’t have time to even scream as he plunged the knife deeply into her throat.

The blood on his hands, as he examined them, was the most beautiful red. How he loved the sight of Bajoran blood. He stood to his feet, feeling quite cleanly that the guards he had bribed wouldn’t tell anyone about what happened, and would wait a few hours before they sounded the alarm.

By that time, he would be long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I have Felix saying too much, but I don't know. I have a lot of information to convey in a short scene, and I did already show a lot of what he's talking about in previous chapters. So yeah, I hope it wasn't jarring, or too much exposition.
> 
> I kind of guessed what the numbers could be, I may adjust things as I do more research, I'm not familiar with things like how many people live on a colony or things like that. Will continue my research. :3 I also went back and changed some of the dates that things have been happening, I'm just really bad with time in general.


	24. Faith, Hope and Music

Julian finally returned with his aides to the house by midday, tired by the traditional walk back down the mountain, and bored stiff from waiting for hours at the transport station in the mountain base village for permission to transport to his residence. He walked into the elegantly carved wooden doors, and was immediately set upon by Songbird, who threw his arms around his neck and kissed him in front of everyone.

Everyone being Shavi and the Ranjens. Where had everyone else gone?

“Julian Bashir, you amazing man, you! You did it!”

“Yes, one trial down, many more to go,” Julian looked around the empty house. All of the Kai’s furniture was still gone, replaced with only a few needed items, but it looked like they were fully hooked up on the grid power. He could feel electricity humming in the walls and the lighting on the ceiling was illuminated too brightly to have been running off a portable generator. “Where is everyone?”

“Dax and O’Brien returned to the Defiant with Odo. Kira is in the capitol right now with Sisko. They may have to leave sooner than anticipated.”

“The _Sutherland_?”Julian guessed, news of its crash being one of the things listed in the report PADD that Ross had given him.

Probably the PADD had more information than he really needed for the vaccine, a lot of it already publicly available on the Federation News Service, Jake’s article covering Garak’s murder, and the trial, being included. It was more for his benefit than nothing else that Ross had included it all and he’d barely had a chance to skim it because he’d been wanting to make sure he had the Temple prophecy scrolls memorized before he left. He could contemplate and study those mysteries later.

“Jak, no don’t worry about it…” Julian complained as he settled down onto the couch with Songbird.

Jak had been about to bend down to help him remove his shoes.

“Hey, let him do his job, sweets,” said Songbird, having finally settled on a pet name that was both natural to say and didn’t bother Julian at all.

“Waiting on me hand and foot is not in his job description,” Julian said, and he saw the embarrassed way Frim shooed Jak up the stairs to get him a fresh change of clothes.

Whatever there was left up there that he could wear. He’d brought a few things besides his medical uniform, but not much. Maybe he would stick with the robes the monks had given him.

_Maybe I should just get it over with and go through Garak’s packs..._

“Hey now, this is new,” Songbird fingered the earring and didn’t seem upset. “You look good with a bit of bling.”

Julian chuckled, and put his fingers up to the earring and mentally considered it. It was just a simple solar disk shape with a leaf pattern on the cuff, and water droplet decorations on the chain, evoking rainfall, but it was made of silver, very expensive on bajor, so he knew they had spent a lot of their personal savings on it for him.

Frim had taken a moment to teach him about the Bajoran earrings while Jak quietly helped him put it on without speaking. But his eyes had been dancing in delight at Julian’s willingness to wear it. Each Bajoran had their own unique pattern on their earring, which helped identify not only the owner of the earring but their history. Beads and charms were often added onto by the owner to signify important moments in their history, such as the birth of a child, or an important event. The highly decorated versions weren’t worn constantly, but were brought out for festivals. Before the Occupation, the earrings had also signalled the djarras.

Julian’s pattern of leaves and water drops had been chosen carefully to invoke his home world, Earth, which was known by other races for its many forests and rivers. It had touched him very deeply how much thought they had put into its custom design.

“Some people consider the first trial itself the sign of a Kai,” said Frim, and Julian realized he’d missed whatever else had been said before that. “Which is rather ridiculous, of course, many who never sat as Kai complete the first trial…”

“And many who should never be Kai make it to the top,” Julian said, and turned. “The Pah-Wraiths help bad candidates make it through the trial in hopes they might get in power. They admitted as much about Kai Winn. And while the Order of Fire listened to and wrote down everything I said, I don’t know how many people in the religious community are going to _believe_ what I said.”

“Oh my god,” Songbird was curled up beside him on the couch, looking up at him and reminding him pointedly of a sleepy kitten. “Maybe it would be a bad idea to share any of your thoughts about Kai Winn in light of what happened to her last night. ”

Julian blanked a moment, then looked up, and Frim looked just as clueless. Clearly Songbird wasn’t referencing the trial.

“Songbird...the Order of Fire and the Fire Caves are off the grid and off the communications network. And we beamed here straight from the transport station in the mountain village without really talking to anyone. What happened to Kai Winn last night?”

“Well…she’s dead. Someone stabbed her in her cell.”

Julian’s felt, more than heard, Frim’s sound of horror.

“Odo and the others didn’t just leave because there’s nothing left to do here,” he said, feeling nausea and not really being sure what the source was.

“No,” Shavi said, she had been sitting with her legs crossed looking strict. “The news broke this morning and the local news is talking about your possible involvement. You should probably stay inside the house for a little while.”

Ah, there it was. Frim looked at Julian pointedly, and Julian looked at him and shook his head. Frim and Jak were becoming very accustomed to the silent cues he sent with various body motions, and the mannerly Bajoran understood. He knew Frim and Jak were respectful of the office of the Kai, but were not ever particularly keen on Winn. Jak was just standing on the stairwell with the fresh clothes he had retrieved for Julian, looking like he’d just walked into a burning building.

Julian looked down at the floor for a moment, wishing he had let the man take off his shoes for him before. He was suddenly feeling really tired and his feet felt a thousand miles away.

“How about some lunch?”

\--------

The death of Kai Winn began a period of deep mourning on Bajor. Large candle vigils and public chanting of prayers became commonplace. A large portion of conspiracy theorists were pointing their accusatory fingers at the Kaj and splinter political groups began popping up to give their own opinion, as they usually did when there was controversy to be found. Fortunately, there were just as many people for, as against, the Kaj, and large groups of pilgrim Vedics descended upon the Kai’s residence, not to knock on the door, but to leave offerings of money and flowers for the Kaj, and little papers with written prayers and blessings, which they slipped under stones in the courtyard.

This all happened in only a week, while Julian Bashir hid himself in the house as Shavi had told him to, for almost five days straight he sat up in his office reading the scrolls in the cabinet there, leaving only to eat and sleep, or get a cup of tea from the replicator. Sometimes he went out to the stone courtyard, but only briefly, and would go back inside when the shouting started. Vedic Tor had come to visit him in his office one day, her face had been very very concerned when she arrived, and she had left his office laughing and smiling.

Julian hadn’t shared with any them what their conversation had been about. Or his thoughts. He didn’t speak to Songbird much more than to let him know he was still studying the Kai’s prophecies, and he wanted to be left alone for a while.

Thus Songbird stomped his way into the Kai’s residence in a very bad mood, passed protestors and praying vedics with Shavi in tow, and immediately threw his hands up upon entering the parlor and seeing a lot of people already there.

“It's madness out there! I don’t know if the concert is going to happen at this rate!”

“The best thing we can do now is let this thing settle and wait for the official investigation to be over,” said Kira Nerys, who hadn’t left the planet since Peldor Joi and had been spending a lot more time with First Minister Shakaar than was probably necessary to help the Doctor. 

Songbird sensed romance in the air.

“It helps that Sisko and Ross both visited Julian that night at the Temple of Fire,” Dax said, looking quite comfortable where she sat. “He has an alibi.”

“And the guards have all given different stories about what happened,” said Odo, putting a hand to his chin. “My guess is someone took a bribe and now they are afraid to admit responsibility. Unfortunately the investigation is not under my jurisdiction,” Odo huffed a little, and crossed the floor. “And I suppose I am rather busy right now with cataloging how many stolen and illegal objects Kai Winn had been in possession of.”

“Could the stolen objects tie into this murder?” asked Dax, and Songbird sat down beside her pointedly.

“Perhaps,” Odo said, and smiled lightly. “Perhaps I’ll suggest coordinating my efforts with theirs when I visit Bajoran Security today.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Sisko, coming down the stairs looking like he had just had a very pleasant conversation. “I think it might soon be time for the rest of us to get in gear. The border patrol is now lacking a ship, and Starfleet doesn’t have anyone else they can send us to replace them. A few more days, and we won’t be given any choice.”

“They shouldn’t have sent _Sutherland_ alone to Colony 53 in the first place…” Dax said harshly. “It was a good two days ahead of any of the back up that it was travelling with.”

“Bait,” Sisko said, with that angry rumble to his voice that meant he was not pleased at all. “Songbird, Julian is reading again. Maybe you should go up and let him know if the concert is cancelled.”

“Not cancelled,” said Songbird. “But I’m going to relocate it to Deep Space Nine, I don’t think Bajorans are going to be too receptive to a memorial for Garak right now.”

Songbird felt his chest was heavier than he expected as he approached the stair, but then Captain Sisko stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and stared at him deeply into his eyes.

“C-Captain?”

“Fortune favors the bold, Songbird. I am very much looking forward to Mister Garak’s memorial concert, wherever you choose to hold it. I will be there.”

Kira had a very perplexed look on her face, as did Dax. Songbird looked at them both miserably for a moment, thinking that if he delayed the concert any longer, all Julian’s and Garak’s friends would be out in the DMZ and unable to attend. Having the Emissary there might help.

He looked at Shavi, waiting in her usual manner of arms crossed, in quiet repose.

“Tomorrow, at the pavilion I rented, as scheduled,” he decided firmly, and then turned to head upstairs.

\---------

Felix Knightly felt his chest aching and his heart pumping as he moved slowly and painstakingly down the rocky forest hill towards the river and clearing. His head hurt, his lungs were aching and he had scrapes all over his arms and legs from shoving through the thick and tangled foliage. The smell of old decaying leaves under foot was aggravating his sinuses, and the annoyingly loud sound of the heavily crackling leaves under his foot were just too loud for his taste. He just didn’t know how to walk quietly.

_If I had been a full Augment...if I had trained my body as well as my mind..._

His only consolation to his ragged state was Remina, somewhere silently moving through the trees nearby, not making even a tiny sound to indicate she was still even with him, only peeking out through the leaves from time to time to make sure he was still going. She was showing no sign of concern for herself and staying almost prenaturally calm in this very tense situation.

It had been some hours when they had arrived at the coordinates that Moon had sent them. She had been waiting for them there, confident and tall, under a rather tall jungle tree, with two tall dark men at either side of her, all of them wearing black uniforms with the crescent symbol of her faction on the breast where a communicator would have been. He knew better, their communicators were mostly invisible behind the ear, so they could hear replies from their ship without anyone else overhearing. At least, anyone with normal hearing. He had heard a few replies to the instructions she sent to her ship, but she didn’t seem phased.

She had been very amused, looking him up and down critically.

“Only a partial?” she said. “I’m a little disappointed. Well at least you aren’t a _defect_.”

It was his height. You could tell if physical additions were made in the genetic code due to physical appearance, and usually height was the most obvious. He was too short for an Augment. Physical changes almost always needed some change in height as well to make up for things like larger lungs and a stronger skeletal system.

“Accelerated critical neural pathway formation,” he had immediately said.

“Ah,” she was amused. “So you could be stronger, if you choose to be…”

He hadn’t replied, but had waited whilst she considered the young Remina, with her red hair, and her unusual green eyes, enhanced specifically for night vision.

“Interesting…” Moon said, and didn’t specify anything more. “ _Very_ interesting.”

Remina had just stood there with the barest passive expression on her fast. Felix hated not knowing what was going on in her mind, but would never openly ask about the other Augment’s genetics. He was too polite, and he liked to work things out himself from observation.

“So here are the rules, for this little game of Hide and Seek,” she looked up at the two men, smiling. “These men are clones of my best warriors, Dua and Soa,” she outright touched one of their strong jaws, and he didn’t move and inch. “They have been programmed purely to hunt, and kill, whatever I tell them to, and have no other loyalty but to me. They cannot be persuaded to change sides…”

Felix immediately hated her infinitely more than he had before. Expendable soldiers, with no personality or independence of their own. One of the worst uses of genetic engineering and cloning, second only to cloning for organ harvesting.

“I will give you both a three hour head start to get as far away as you can, and then I will send them,” she said, and paced sideways, looking only amused and delighted. “If you can survive twenty four hours, or somehow kill them both, which is highly unlikely, then I will leave the planet, with my crew, and leave the medical supplies you have requested me. If you lose, well, you’ll both be dead…” she looked over at Remina, who had taken a slight unsteady breath at this. “And the children will be mine to do what I wish. Any questions?”

Felix kept his tongue in his mouth, but he had a million acerbic and vitriolic swear words he could have spoken to describe what he thought of her and her game.

“Three hours,” she said, and she even had a quaint old fashioned stopwatch, which she held up for them to see that the three hour timer was set. “Three…two...one…GO!”

Now, it was some hours later, and there was no way for them to know where the two hunters were, and Remina had turned out to be faster and more nimble than him. She _had_ been advanced physically, at least they had that going for them.

But at sixteen she was young, and was now fighting for her life, and these men were not targs in the woods. He ached for her. He just could not see them surviving this with their lives.

_But I’m a pessimist...and she seems confident enough for both of us..._

He was just coming down into a small flat spot in the trees when he felt it. A sudden silencing of the birds. A changing of energies, a shifting of the air.

From somewhere behind him.

He hefted the Bat’leth and side-stepped just as one of Moon’s dark expendable clone soldiers leapt out of the foliage towards him.

The clone rolled and came to standing, his side phaser in hand. Felix dodged the phaser shot with a roll of his own towards the man, and rammed forward with the sharp and gutting edge of the weapon in his hands.

 _Jesus, it’s on disintegrate,_ there was now a nasty hole in the foliage behind him where leaves and branches had once been.

The edge connected, to his surprise, and they both went down onto the ground. But the clone clearly had some sort of stomach armor, for he wasn’t injured and rolled on top of Felix, heavy and vicious and driving the Bat'leth backwards into Felix’s chest. Sweat poured down his face and panic briefly filled him as he remembered every spy and warrior program he had ever personally tested for Julian and Commander Worf coming into his brain, and he shoved up with his feet and threw the clone off of him and away.

The clone came up to his feet and pulled his knife and advanced, and the knife hit the guiding edge of the Bat'leth and hooked onto the lower fork of the weapon. The clone’s phaser hand came up to grab the other edge and he mightily twisted and tossed Felix out into the leaves onto his rump.

Disarmed, and now heavily despairing, Felix stood up and saw the clone coming towards him, phaser pointed. It was over.

It must have really surprised the clone when a silent, red haired slip of a girl came forward from the greenery beside him, the disrupter tip raised directly at his temple.

_Clever girl…_

Felix dodged as the twin blasts of the phaser and the disrupter rang out at just the same time.

Remina plodded over to Felix to help him to his feet, and handed him the phaser of the downed clone, retaining his knife for her own use. Felix felt his self-confidence rising up to its proper place in his chest as he retrieved his Bat’leth from the ground.

“What is your Thread name?” he asked her, pausing for a moment, wondering where the other clone soldier was hiding.

“Starlight, but I don’t like it,” she wrinkled her nose. “My mom chose it for me.”

“Your name is now Raptor,” he told her, and she grinned as if all her prayers had been answered at once. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She nodded and then followed him back into the forest.

It was now _their_ turn to go hunting. And this time, he felt much more confident about their future success.

\---------

First Minister Shakaar entered the residence of the Kai with a slight feeling of foreboding. The first sign that things were different to him had been the hundreds of bouquets of flowers from supporters, and the angry crowd of protesters, equal in number. The second thing was the sparse furnishing of the residence, which gripped him with familiarity. It was no more furnished than when Opaka was in residence, but with some obvious Starfleet additions. Electricity for one, the Kai was supposed to live a more austere life so neither Winn nor Opaka had lived with electrical appliances.

The other was the lack of Vedics, and only the two Ranjens had been waiting for him in the foyer.

“Captain Sisko and the rest of the Defiant’s crew have all gone to prepare for Songbird’s concert,” Ranjen Frim informed him, as he made his dutiful way up the stairs ahead of Shakaar.

“I won’t take up the Kaj’s time, I know the last concert he went to was not a pleasant situation.”

This house had gotten a lot larger since Opaka’s time and he kicked himself for never having visited the Kai in her home. An addition had been added on top for extra room. Normally the Kai slept on the main floor, and there was an office and a second room for prayer on the second. But there was now a third floor above, where the Kai’s living suite was now located.

Shakaar was led to the office on the second floor, and found Julian Bashir sitting behind the desk, eyes closed almost as if in prayer.

Frim announced him, and Bashir barely opened his eyes, almost as if…

_Was he meditating?_

Vedic monks in very remote monasteries were known to go into deep trances sometimes, meditating for hours on end. But what Bashir had in front of him on the now very very bare desk was a Starfleet standard issue PADD. He hadn’t been studying scrolls before he’d closed his eyes.

“Kaj, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy,” said Shakaar. “But I know you have a lot on your mind right now and I wanted to assure you that you are not at all considered a suspect in the Kai’s murder. Sisko already gave us your alibi and the sheer number of people who have been with you here, watching your movements, shows that you couldn’t have been planning this or in any way involved.”

“No, oh no, I think maybe it must have been her co-conspirator, Dukat,” Bashir said, calmly and placidly, as if he were considering a particularly interesting medical puzzle. “It was a Klingon knife that was used, Odo said? Dukat has a tendency to steal Klingon ships…”

“Odo did mention that,” Shakaar agreed, and Frim left them alone together. “I am wondering why you haven’t left to go to the concert with the others...do you still believe Garak’s spirit to be walking among us?”

Julian Bashir’s face took on a pained, almost guilty look.

“No, no, the visions I was having of Garak are over…” he looked almost hurt about it. As if it were a personal insult to not be having the visions. “But I didn’t want to bring negative attention to the concert by the protestors…Songbird made me promise I would be there. I’m sitting here not sure what to do.”

“Nothing to worry about that,” said Shakaar, and came around the side. “I will be happy to provide personal protection and escort you myself. And you can tell me all about your Trial of Fear. I heard from Kira it was a close call.”

He barely risked a glance over at the PADD, but was disappointed by only the Starfleet logo on display. Whatever Admiral Ross and Sisko had been doing visiting him at the temple, he was now certain he wasn’t going to find out about it any time soon. Whatever it is, they hadn’t been willing to share it with him.

He really hoped, whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be a problem for Bajor. They already had enough troubles to be getting along with.

\----------

Songbird could almost feel the mental trauma in his chest as a physical object, moving around through his lungs as he reread his verses, pointlessly. His brain could memorise any tiny bit of information or any complex mathematical theory, but he was now coming up a blank.

_I’m not going to play Garak’s song for Julian, not without Ziyal here for the duet. But I can’t handle this either, I…_

“Birdling, I can see you panicking internally, talk to me.”

“Shavi,” his own voice was trembling. “The last concert...and so many people who think Julian...what if he’s still in danger? I mean, the killer is still out there!”

He hated the panic in his voice. He had never been a coward. He had thrown himself out before the world blazing like a white hot light. He had been, like the great 20th century musician had sung, a ‘rocket ship’ on his ‘way to Mars’.

But he wasn’t a warrior, he was a musician. He wasn’t someone who pointedly put himself in actual danger from actual physical threats. People out there now wanted him dead as well, just by association. That stage was a very vulnerable place to be.

“Birdling,” Shavi sighed, and took him into her arms for a moment for a motherly hug, and gently stroked his hair. “I am so proud of you doing this. You have always thought of yourself and your image and Your Brand. Today you are not dressed to put yourself on display, you are dressed to remember someone else, and I think you are just worried that it won’t be enough. That there will never be enough you can do for Garak. You are probably right. But you will do your best, and I think that is all you need to do.”

Songbird took a deep breath, and studied himself again in his mirror. The gray Cardassian style suit, the green, teal blue and dark violet accents, that were quite muted...Yet the combination of the favorite colors of him, Garak, and Julian seemed to blaze so clearly to him that he had to remind himself that not everyone was genetically engineered, and wouldn’t be able to see the accent colors. Certainly very few people even knew their favorite colors. He really hoped Julian would notice.

A person was missing from their family, they had been robbed, and that fact would never change. But maybe they could remember what they had, and maybe share it with the world.

“I’m ready. Time to sing...”

\---------

Captain Sisko had to admit, he had rather enjoyed Songbird’s first, interrupted concert on the station, and he had rather enjoyed the Peldor Joi concert until the terrible attack had happened. He was then impressed that somehow, despite the subdued nature of this affair, the memorial of a man who had been at once a tailor, and a man of many skills, he was still enjoying himself.

A lot of Bajoran musicians had come out to give their own tributes, to entertain the Cardassian orphans who had been invited to watch, and to celebrate Bajor’s cultural diversity. The Bajorans, Cardasians, and other races, Human, Trill, Klingon, that were all to be found here now, up on the station or visiting the planet.

He looked over at Julian Bashir, looking somewhat more like himself dressed in a creme sweater and brown slacks, and wrapped up in one of Garak’s warm jackets. Sisko recognized the green and gray zippered jacket, which was slightly oversized for him, and felt his heart hurt for the man wearing it. Julian was looking like he was so lost in misery and guilt now that there could be no escape. But was there another reason for his concern?

Nearby, Kira Nerys and First Minister Shakaar were quietly talking to one another, both of them mostly talking about the situation with the orphans. Sisko was convinced there was a relationship in the offing, but he wondered what Odo would make of it.

Odo was indeed watching the pair, but if he felt any emotion he didn’t show it. Dax and O’Brien were sitting with Nog, all of them rather enjoying the carnival of different musicians coming on.

Songbird did finally come on, looking rather less flashy than his usual self. All the lights lowered and then there was a strange sound.

A repetitive drum beat. Julian actually hitched a breath and Sisko caught the sight of tears in his eyes. The drum was joined by a soft repeating sound of a gong…

And then Songbird started singing in Cardassian.

_Oh, this is a Cardassian memorial, of course he’d honor Garak with a song in his nativel language._

It was actually a little more uplifting, rather than mournful, and the lyrics, if Sisko’s communicator was translating correctly, indicated the description of travelling through great mountains, across vast deserts, exploring deep swamps and playing hide and seek in green vineyards. The song described buildings of marble and tall granite and vast crowds, and the sound of wind blowing, and he could almost feel these things and see them himself. The rhythm of the drum and gong was as if a heart was beating.

_He’s describing Cardassia, Cardassia as Garak, and these children might have known it before their exile. That’s what his song is about._

The song finished and there was applause, and Songbird took a moment at the microphone to briefly memorialize Garak.

“This song, and this concert, is dedicated to the memory of Elim Garak, tinker, tailor, Cardassian spy,” he smiled impishly. “And someone who will be incredibly missed by many many people.”

Julian had his face buried in his hands, and Sisko raised his own hand to lay on the man’s heaving shoulders. Dax turned in her seat in concern, her own eyes a little damp, and Sisko nodded at her.

_Julian needs this...he’s not had much chance to grieve at all. None of us have._

And he realized his own chest felt a little heavy, and he turned to look at Jake, who was red eyed and nodding with the music that was now following. Songbird was on the stage with some of the volunteer musicians, all of them singing Cardassian and Bajoran children’s bedtime songs to farewell the children in the audience and to end the concert properly. A lot of happy applause followed and Sisko wrapped an arm around his son to pull him in against him.

“This too shall pass Jake. We’ll bring her home. We know she is on Cardassian now, it's just a matter of politics to bring her back home.”

“Yeah,” said Jake. “But she didn’t get to be here for this.”

“Don’t worry,” said Dax. “Songbird said he was going to make the recording of this concert public, for anyone to watch from anywhere in the alpha quadrant. What do you think Ben?”

Sisko thought about it quietly. Although nothing in the song seemed out of place, he was certain there was more than one audience that this song was meant for.

“I think it's going to be interesting to see how people react to him going forward. Everyone knows he’s an Augment.”

“He hadn’t exactly been trying to hide it,” Julian said, having recovered himself. “Not for himself anyway. I hope Ross isn’t getting any flak for it.”

Sisko considered Julian for a moment. Although his eyes were red, he was smiling, and there a sparkle in those eyes, the despair of before was gone.

“I think Admiral Ross can take care of himself. Songbird has nothing left to lose.”

“Time to go home then,” said Bashir, almost laughing when Frim and Jak both made unhappy sounds. “You can come too. I’m sure there’ll be plenty you can teach me while I’m practicing medicine.”

“I thought you had to finish the 2nd trial before you left?” said Jake, looking curious. “Don’t you have to perform a miracle.”

Julian looked over at Frim, who raised his head delicately, and Jak smiled knowingly.

“Come over by the house tomorrow, and I’ll show you the seedling I’ve been...blessing…”

Sisko almost laughed out loud. Somehow he knew the doctor was going to go with the seed and stone miracle. Somehow he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Songbird and their love of old movies and music from the 20th century is done intentionally. I like to think that many genetically engineered humans would be very knowledgeable about human history.
> 
> I just really enjoyed putting in the Jurassic Park and Queen references, but I hope they weren't too subtle, I enjoy putting these little Easter eggs in my stories.
> 
> This part is soon coming to an end, one more, at most two more, chapters, and then we'll see what I'm going to do next in Burning Stars. :D


	25. Small Miracles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS DONE! Rising Fury is done! Part four of Burning Stars will be starting fairly soon, I just really need a break now for a week or two, but should be on it quickly. Part four will be the part I've been wanting to write since I started this series. So its going to be significantly important that I start writing it from a good place and state of mind.

Captain Edward Jellico of the starship _Cairo_ found himself nonplussed as he watched Captain Shelby and her surviving Starfleet Officers distributing supplies and building emergency shelters that the relief ships had brought with them. A rather bemused red-haired teenager and her much older male companion were sitting nearby on top of one of the cargo boxes, and apparently they were the heroes of the colony. The girl was carrying a Klingon disruptor, also armed with a small side phaser of some kind, and a knife. The man was similarly armed, though the disrupter was replaced by a Klingon dual bladed hand weapon he forgot the name of. One of Jellico’s weaknesses had always been foreign words.

“I think I’m not sure I understand what you just said Captain,” Jellico said, hands on hips, and had to suppress himself from laughing as he watched two children running by, on the run from parents that were trying to convince them to put on some clothes. “Did you just say you weren’t leaving?”

Shelby seemed to look him up and down for a moment, and there was defiance in her stance.

“There has to be a Starfleet presence on this colony, at least until they can take care of themselves, or another big Augment group, Faction, whatever, will come and try and take it over. These kids don’t deserve to be treated like a prize to be won. If these families are serious about forming a colony here, then I will support their cause and provide security too.”

Jellico looked up at the man on the box, who had a sarcastic eyebrow raised and was leaning against his Klingon weapon almost too casually. The blade was rather blood stained, and Jellico wouldn’t put odds against it having been used recently.

“We’re in the middle of a conflict with the Dominion, and we need ships with Captains on them. I don’t know if this is going to fly with Starfleet HQ,” Jellico said, but he knew the woman was completely determined.

“Well Starfleet HQ should have thought of that first before deciding to relocate all these people!” said Shelby hotly. “The number of civil rights violations that happened here mean that if we don’t turn this situation into something positive, then we’ll be looking at the end of whatever moral high ground the Federation once held in the Alpha Quadrant. We’ll be no different than any other empire with our treatment of minorities. And then the member worlds will start leaving one by one. Or kick us out, and I don’t know which is worse. Don’t you think?”

Jellico looked up at the girl, who was looking passed him, beyond him towards the gates, where they were dismantling the old buildings in preparation for building prefabricated shelters. The girl then looked down at her wrist, at the watch she was wearing, to check the time.

Strange thing, to see someone that young wearing a wrist watch. He decided he rather liked this girl and he didn’t know her name yet.

“Well I’ll let Starfleet know and I will support your decision, but don’t blame me if they put up a fight,” he let his hands rest at his sides. “Why don’t you introduce me to everyone and tell me everything that has happened since you crash landed, and maybe you can convince me to pick up a sonic welder myself.”

\-----------

Admiral Ross felt as if he was completely out of place as he stepped foot into the stone courtyard of the Kai’s residence. The streets were lined with hundreds of Bajorans, some protesting, some praying, others chanting, and still others gossiping and talking, and he’d been alarmed at how big the crowd was when he beamed down.

But the space inside the decorative stone fence was even more cramped. Vedics by the hundreds were crowded in here, all of them with smiles on their faces and relieved looks, and talking animatedly to themselves, debating some philosophical or religious point, or perhaps discussing some important Prophecy. Ross recognized some of the remaining members of the Vedic Assembly. He’d been becoming acquainted with all of Bajor’s key players in government in his time here on the planet, and probably knew as much as Sisko at this point about how Bajorans liked to do their politics.

And their gardening. He recognized the fact that this house was unique, in that it was very lacking in green growth. This courtyard had at one time been a garden area with growing things. A really old Bajoran willow tree marked the corner of one edge of the property, and that was it for trees and shrubs. It was a big enough ‘lawn’ that it could have been planted with several trees, but it was entirely modernized with stone tile walkways and a large pool that wrapped around the side of the house. But the ground was almost entirely paved over, with decorative pots of some exotic foliage being the only sign of respect towards nature. 

Well that, and the large boulder in the central courtyard, where several Vedics were discussing and measuring the size of a tiny green plant, each taking their turn with the ruler, as if the tiny plant was the most precious resource in the galaxy. It was no more than a sprout, and it was rooted into the boulder’s stony surface without any complaint. Julian Bashir, once more in his Bajoran medical uniform, was leaning against the large stone and looking supremely pleased with himself.

“Admiral,” he smiled and nodded. “Frim, show him inside please.”

“This way if you please, Admiral.”

Ross turned his head at the sound, and saw the Ranjen, Frim, motioning him towards the house from the front door. He was starting to recognize the difference between Vedics, Ranjens and Prylars. He was getting too used to Bajor and he knew it.

Feeling relieved to be free of so many Vedics, Ross followed him inside, where he found Sisko, to his utter relief, and the rest of the landing party, along with his son Songbird and his clever agent.

“That looks like a big to do out there,” Ross said, sitting when offered a chair to sit on.

“Miracles do tend to be,” Sisko said ponderously, and leaned forward on his elbow. “Update?”

“We’ve finally been able to deliver supplies to colony 53,” he started. Not many people here knew about the situation with Earth yet, so he stuck to the news that had been at the heart of the Bajoran government refusing to return to negotiating membership with the Federation. “It seems that some of the Augments in colony 53 made a deal with the owner of the silver ship, and she has left the area, possibly for good. I have to admit, the President found the right person to put in charge of the project, Doctor Locken is doing everything right now. He’s quite quickly cleaning up the mess Novos made and making all the right choices. And there has been no more talk of relocating anymore people. We need to give command to Doctors more often.”

“Thank the Prophets,” said Kira, looking very very relieved.

“What kind of deal exactly, did the colonists make?” asked Dax, who wouldn’t have let such a remark like that pass by without comment.

“A deadly one, but it paid off in droves,” Ross looked at her seriously. “When you have a moment, look up an old short story from Earth’s history called ‘The Most Dangerous game’.”

“I’ve read it,” Dax admitted. “So there was some sort of hunting game?”

“Yes, and the colonists won the game, and the Augments already in the colony have decided they want Starfleet to stay for the time being, but _only_ if Captain Shelby is in charge. She’s made quite an impression on them.”

“She would have to have made a very _very_ good impression,” Songbird said, looking severely angry. “After all that has been done to them.”

Ross understood the natural, very personal, anger that his son must have been feeling about all of this.

“Our next concern now is making sure _Sutherland_ ’s replacement takes over the patrol quickly, so you’re shoving out immediately Ben,” he didn’t want to split hairs about that. _"Enterprise_ is being pulled back for repairs and upgrades this week, and _Destiny_ too, so there won’t be that many big ships on the border. We’ll see if we can send you the _Cairo_ and the _Farragut_ is always going to be somewhere on route between Bajor and Earth.”

“What about _Sentinel_?”

“Back to its previous route,” was all Ross had to say.

 _Sentinel_ ’s previous route being a secret run along the Romulan border.

“Other ships?” Dax prompted.

Ross did a general list of all the ships ready for the Dominion front and the ships that were deployed naturally around Federation space protecting convoys of shuttles. Not to mention the traditional science vessels that were purely science, not military, that had to travel without protection beyond Federation space since they couldn’t afford to send any heavy hitters that far from the Federation border.

Just as he was finished going over the roster of ships that were deployed, Doctor Bashir suddenly came chuckling into the house with his two Ranjen’s, and a Vedic that Ross vaguely remembered was named Tor.

“So is it a miracle?” Dax asked, wryly.

“Yes it is indeed,” said Tor proudly, and sauntered over to the table, Bashir slowly and lazily moving over to stand next to Songbird’s chair. “And because the seed did not come from a plant known to grow on rock, we should have no difficulty convincing the rest of Bajor...”

Sisko seemed startled and looked up with a smile at the Doctor.

“All I did was soak the seed in water in a towel overnight before putting it on the rock and doing the blessing. Really,” the man shrugged. “I’m just as surprised as you are that it grew as big as it did. I did water it, but that’s permitted. Plants are always just rather surprising in how they behave in response to any new stimuli,” he turned to look at Dax, who looked almost embarrassed by the comment.

“Well then congratulations are in order,” said Ross, and he smiled. “I hope this means you’re going to be able to start working on your research again, Doctor?”

“It was the last thing I needed to do before I could leave,” Bashir turned to see Jak quietly wiping his eyes. “Oh don’t cry please, Jak, you are coming to the station aren’t you? The temple there is beautiful, and you’ll enjoy the trip.”

“Jak has never left Bajor before,” said Frim promptly at their confusion. “Nor travelled in space. He is not sure he wants to go.”

“Some trips are only meant for the Prophets to make,” Jak said softly.

“But I would encourage you to see the Celestial Temple for yourself,” said Vedic Tor. “It really is beautiful beyond words.”

Kira Nerys smiled just as broadly as Sisko at this comment, and Ross sighed, leaning back a bit.

“This is a nice house, I can understand why you would want to stay here…”

“It was nicer when it had a green yard,” said Tor firmly. “I’m so glad you are going to be restoring the Kai’s meditation garden, Kaj Bashir. A nice positive step in the right direction.”

“Well all the pavement bothered me,” said Bashir, looking rather uncomfortable. “While I’m away they’re going to renovate and restore the traditional herb garden, the root cellar, and fix all the wiring, and get this place a little bit restored.”

“And turn that walk-in wardrobe into a second bathroom,” said Songbird grandly. “Even I don’t need a closet that big!”

Everyone laughed at the joke, and Ross stood to his feet.

“It looks as if everything is finally turning in our favor,” he said. “I will see you all on board the _Defiant_ shortly,” he added, and hastily beat his exit to the door.

Somehow, he knew he wasn’t as welcome as he’d hoped.

\---------

“I don’t think he meant to be rude,” said Julian quietly, as they packed their things. “I don’t expect Starfleet officers to always remember to use titles, especially if I _am_ going to be a Doctor again for Bajor.”

“Kaj,” said Ranjen Frim, going into full lecture mode. “It is important for you to start letting people know the seriousness of your intent. It isn’t enough to say you are going to take the Trials of the Kaj, but not use the title of it.”

“Well…”

“He’s right,” Songbird said firmly. “He would have called Kai Winn by her proper title. And you aren’t Starfleet anymore.”

“Maybe,” Julian looked down a little, at the pack of clothes.

He had taken a few things that he wanted of Garak’s, let Songbird take what he wanted, and rolled up the rest to donate to the charity auction for ‘Garak’s Orphans’ as the event was going to be called now. He wasn’t looking forward to tackling everything in Garak’s quarters back on the station. The Kai’s furniture was ready to be sold, the stolen items were being returned to their owners and Odo’s investigation was being wound down nicely with a whole slurry of new investigations being opened up around the Orion Syndicate’s activity on Bajor. He had never seen Odo so happily busy with a case.

But he had other plans for Garak’s shop. He had thoroughly turned down all the vultures that had started contacting him to ask about whether he was renewing the rent. It was just horrific to think of any other shop but Garak’s there, but he knew he wasn’t going to let that insult fly.

_No wonder Garak wanted to move, with all that pressure to leave. Oh god I don’t know how I’m going to be able to do this without him!_

“Julian?” Songbird had realized something was wrong, and Frim had pointedly left the matter alone and left room. “All right sweetheart?”

Julian looked up at Songbird with a nod to reassure him, then briefly glanced over at Shavi, who was dealing with Songbird’s large piles of paper sheet music.

“Why can’t you use a PADD like everyone else?”

“Pen and paper is more organic, and traditional…”

“It’s cumbersome and…”

Bashir blocked out their quarrelling by rote, thinking calmly instead of Garak’s shop, and the work he was planning to do there.

_I’ll take care of the Rot and this new virus Starfleet has handed me, and expand my Infirmary in the way I’ve always wanted to. I’ll have to convince that Mercadian merchant to trade spaces. But with how close Garak’s shop was to the replimat, it might be an easy sale. But I’ll have the virology research lab space I’ve been dreaming of, and more space in the main infirmary for examination beds, and I’ll have been thrifty about how I went about it. That I saved money would make Garak very happy about how his space was dealt with. And thanks to Shavi, I now know a vendor on Bajor who will take Garak’s designs and old stock to sell for me. It should all even out._

But the finality of this was just too painful for him to think of. All of this amounted to him formally acknowledging his lover was gone, and life went on, and he and Songbird would have to build their new lives without him.

But there was one more loose thread left before he could settle into a normal life again. One last thing he needed to take care of.

He hadn’t forgotten Gul Dukat. It had just been put on hold for a while.

_Vengeance is coming swiftly for him. I’ll wait for my chance and take it. No need to plan out a humiliation or a grand display as I did for Kai Winn. I won’t let another life escape me the way she did. The days of Gul Dukat’s life are now numbered by how soon the two of us can exist in the same room._

This thought significantly cheered his mood and he went back to packing his belongings, whistling all the while.

\---------

Captain Benjamin Sisko breathed a very deep sigh of relief once Nog had confirmed that Doctor Bashir and his party were all on board safely and they were okay to leave.

He loved Bajor, he really really loved Bajor, but he needed to be back on his station, in charge of his crew, dealing with the problems of Starfleet. And he knew Admiral Ross had been perturbed with how much time they had spent on the planet dealing with Bashir’s personal life, with their ships sitting uselessly in orbit. If Doctor Bashir hadn’t been selected as an important spiritual figure for the indecisive Bajorans, Starfleet would have put its foot down. But as Bajor was so important to the Federation, they had let Sisko wing this, as he tended to do.

Thank goodness it was over. Soon they would be out on patrol of the Demilitarized Zone, keeping an eye out for Dominion incursions…

And trying to bring home Ziyal. Sisko breathed a deep sigh, considering very firmly sending Jake home to Earth to live with his Granddad for a while. He knew Jake would object to it, but Sisko knew his father had life experience that could help Jake cope with his troubles. And all that time on Earth could help his new journalism career really take off.

_Then again, he’s been quite keen in writing about Odo’s investigations as well. I can imagine Odo is going to ask for a runabout soon to go visit that planet…I’d really like to know what the Orion Syndicate has been up to._

Still, that investigation had done them all some good. Vedic Shern was now serving quietly in the convent and all the family’s illicit profits had been redistributed to their original owners and put back into the renovation of the Kai’s residence. And a large portion had gone to Garak’s Orphans.

_But I suspect Shern isn’t going to stay in that convent. She’s as crafty as her sister was, so I’ve heard..._

Sisko leaned forward, and realized Dax and the rest of the crew had been waiting for him.

“Set course for Deep Space 9,” he said and went back to woolgathering for a while.

\-----------

Captain Samuel Morgan looked down at the colony through the shuttle windows, deeply thinking as he studied the blinking peridot light on his watch face.

Adding simple pattern based communications into the watches was vital. Although it would have been simple to install a two way communicator as well, he’d forgone it. Audio communications could be overheard. With his watches, any signals being sent were currently mistaken for background static. And with one wipe of the on board memory the watches would appear to be exactly as they looked, a normal wristwatch.

The pattern of blinking lights completed, and he found himself smiling widely.

_She’s very clever…_

“I don’t think we have anything left to do here,” he said, turning to look at Sala Gabriel pointedly where she sat in the pilots seat. “We can leave…”

“She’s not coming with us?”

“Raptor is very perfectly situated right now to recruit people to our cause, unless the other Factions interfere. With all the Starfleet presence here now, I don’t think it’ll be easy for any Faction besides the Children to infiltrate the colony. I’m sure they must already have one member down there by now, doing their best to convince the Augment children to abandon their parents. It depends on the age of the older children, of course. But Raptor is young, as her new name would attest, and her youth will certainly work in her favor with those children who don’t trust adults. We have the foothold that we need to claim this colony.”

Sala nodded, and began tapping new coordinates into the shuttle controls. Being cloaked wasn’t necessarily protection, there were other ships now in the Federation fleet that could cloak and Starfleet was becoming more skilled in detecting those signals.

“Our days of duck and cover are done. A less covert means is now needed to meet our goals...get in touch with Thistle, he’ll know what to do next to get us into position.”

Sala cracked a rare bright smile and began tapping into the console. The Thread had been somewhat compromised, but it seemed as if the new administrator was starting to get a handle on all the Starfleet and Dominion infiltrators and was working on increasing security on the Thread.

And then Sala made an unexpectedly surprised sound.

“Look,” she handed the Thread controls over to his console, and he brought them up on screen to see for himself what had startled the cool headed woman so completely.

A new user had joined the Thread. And had already been joining in the medical conversations taking place there, and had started his own on the discussion thread on the subject of Selelvian Rot, looking for a collaboration team.

The new user was going by the code name TeddyBear.

Sam laughed. He laughed, and laughed and threw his head back and desperately tried to catch his breath.

“Doesn’t waste any time, does he?”

Sala frowned, and looked away. She had been lovers with Doctor Bashir when she was younger, and she was clearly not happy with him now.

“Do you think he has a chance?” she asked, not looking at him, the starfield flying by them with sparkling lines of white light.

“I certainly hope he meets with great success,” he countered. “The more who come to the table the better, I say…”

Without a doubt, Samuel Morgan was looking forward to seeing if Julian Bashir could wrangle himself control of a Faction. There were many right now who were leaderless, scrambling for representation, being eaten up by other Factions. The original twelve were being very very quickly reduced in size with every passing day, and new names and identities were rising to the fore.

_It may be too late for us to meet now, without all the signatories represented, it could very well be a free for all until the Factions regain their former strength. We cannot let Rebirth and The Children of Khan control the Alpha Quadrant. It’s time for us to rise once more from the ashes and take back the fight._

\----------

In the darkness of the room, Spider sat, pensively watching the screens in front of him. His dark eyes moved back and forth quickly under the curtain of long black hair as he quietly tapped in his clearance credentials to bring up the messaging system. There were several windows of updates waiting for him, all of them flashing with the thousands of messages and alerts and updates that composed all the activity taking place on this colony at any given time. A bunch of messages were being sent from the residential district to the warehouse, the usual orders from the scientist civilians who lived here asking for supplies. Security drill instructions being sent across the colony from one end to the other, and to and from the security center and up to his security console. Updates on the weather, the energy levels of the generators under the ground, powering the colony using natural gas, updates from the solar cells above ground, and the active dilithium crystal matrix and the back up generator. There were so many sources of power for this colony that it was easy to switch over from one to another in the event of a breakdown or a problem.

Spider was chalk white, malnourished for light, long-limbed and powerful, with a cut and pointed jaw and a similarly pointed nose. He knew he was frightful to look at, and he also knew he was stronger than he looked, and that people had a very real reason to be afraid of him that they probably weren’t always aware of.

_Secretly strong, secretly smart, secretly everything. Not many of the colonists know about me...if they knew me...really knew what I was...beyond system security and maintenance..._

His dark eyes strayed to his personal inbox, passing over the slurry of messages from the security office, the science division, and the engineering station, all with requests and updates that needed his attention.

He ignored them all for the moment, and pulled up a new window, and began examining the new messages on the Thread.

The situation at 53 had been well taken care of by the colonists themselves and now Starfleet was doing damage control and was trying to take credit. A whole host of complaints about Starfleet now proliferated the Thread. The small but mighty Jack Pack being the loudest group, and the group most rightfully angry. The normal adults were now trying to isolate their Augment children from the influences of Augment adults, totally throwing themselves into the arms of Starfleet like frightened sheep.

_Too little, too late, Faction influence is already there..._

Starchild had changed her name to Raptor, and promised to do something to help the children find their way to the Thread without adults knowing about it. Something about that was comforting somehow. He didn’t quite know which Faction this person was in yet, though he had his suspicions, but he knew she was very quiet and extremely cautious with every message she sent.

Spider knew everyone on the Thread, though most of them he had never in his life met in person. He knew Maestro, loud and boisterous, and already going ballistic about the music he’d been composing on Bajor. Everyone knew without knowing who Maestro was. Spider had not hesitated to make him a moderator, despite his wild personality. He was very much a people person, and doing a good job with the Thread, communicating and socializing and keeping the conversations civil. Spider hoped Maestro’s tour plans would not interfere too greatly with his duties to the Thread, but the man had warned him beforehand to expect gaps in his activity going forward.

_Some places on his tour won’t have communications access._

Tempest, finally back on the Thread and the former Administrator, was quite ready to murder someone, anyone, if he didn’t get the machinery he needed to start writing holosuite programs again. Spider considered making him a moderator, even though his Thread access was very compromised by other users he had to share a terminal with.

 _He could have a low level clearance…_ Spider quickly tapped out the request to send to his private inbox, and then moved on.

Moon was screaming at anyone who would hear about Starfleet ruining her game by taking the prize from the winners. The winners were ignoring her ranting quite pointedly.

Dreamer had returned to his posting safely, and was looking forward to a possible promotion. Spider decided to respect his privacy about why he was no longer active on the Thread. His updates had been painfully scarce since he’d sent his resignation.

Spider pushed his long black hair away from his face, and narrowed his eyes in sudden concern. Something had caught his eye.

Angel, Thistle and Clover were engaged in a very private conversation that was highly encrypted with several layers of security. As the administrator he could see they were sending messages privately, but couldn’t see the contents. Usually this was a sign of Faction activity and it caused him to pause for a moment. But he didn’t have the right to tell people how to use the Thread’s private messaging system. Faction activity wasn’t allowed on the public Thread, but privacy and safety was its primary purpose.

_It’s much harder when you know people are likely planning something dangerous..._

Marshall, the Starfleet plant, was trying to rejoin under a new name, and Spider snuffed him down as quickly as he’d snuffed down all other attempts by this user. A Starfleet spy was not welcome, and they already had someone on the Thread who people were willing to share information with, and who, in his opinion, was doing a good job being a moderator and respecting the aims and goals of what the Thread represented. What it meant. Starfleet needed to respect the boundaries in place and accept what information Maestro was willing to offer. He wasn’t going to compromise names or identities and that was something Starfleet was not having an easy time dealing with.

_Freedom...not just of speech, but of body and mind. No compromise._

A memorial had been posted for user Ragnar, who had been with them so briefly it was painful. He had been their only Cardassian. A few Vulcan users were now talking about Cardassian politics and the ritual burial traditions of Cardassians.

Shepherd informed them all lightly he was leaving Earth soon to go travelling again. Everyone knew what that meant, but nobody seemed to mind him discussing this in public.

_It isn’t just a Faction situation, everyone is looking for Zimmerman. The man has just vanished into stardust..._

And finally, most significantly, he noted the creation of a new user named TeddyBear. Maestro had approved and supported his membership completely.

Spider felt his chest ache for a moment, and leaned back, turning to look over at his work bench.

The lifeless golden eyes of the android head laying there were disconcerting. He stopped for a moment in reflection of all the work he had been doing to try to restore the android Lore’s cognitive functions enough to gain administrative access to his positronic matrix.

It was impossible. He _knew_ it was impossible. He also knew ripping open an android’s head in an angry passion to get at a microchip was a very very normal instinct, but he was almost at that point, and he knew he was short on time.

 _A bit more patience,_ Spider leaned back in his chair. _A bit more time..._

In the darkness of his quarters, here in the security center of his colony, a place he hadn’t left since he was very very young, he considered his room, and the head on the table, and the messages on the screen. This was a place where he had always felt at home, and yet...

 _Freedom, we all crave it. Me more so than many others,_ he looked across the vast expanse of his monitors and their flashing messages, and then back down at the Thread.

_TeddyBear huh? Well friend, very soon I will finally get to meet you again in person. We’ll see if you are who I suspect you are. I just need to do a little more work..._

In the darkness of his room, a Spider returned to patiently weaving his intricate and beautiful web, his web of people, the people of the Thread, across half the galaxy now, and maybe soon they would even reach the Delta quadrant. Spiders wove very elaborate webs to catch their prey. This fiery prey he had been chasing had been well worth the waiting for.

And in the midst of his weaving, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end, but not forever. Keep an eye out on my user page for part four of Burning Stars, which will pick up with this series, from Data's perspective (slight spoiler!). I'm really looking forward to writing it.


End file.
